Notes
by Gothik Faerie
Summary: Phantom of the Opera A young woman named Faye Lavonne, finds herself in the world of the Opera Populaire and receives a series of strange notes from an unknown author...
1. A Prologue

"**Notes"**

_A Phantom of the Opera Phanfic_

Summary: A young woman named Faye Lavonne, originally raised in the countryside of Provence, France has been discovered to have a remarkable singing voice. She enters the world of the Opera Populaire a bit shy and reluctantly, but finds herself growing up very quickly, becoming accustomed to the ways of the stage. She receives notes from a strange presence once she arrives, which provide her with some sort of solitude in the harsh world of the theater. The notes lead her to curiosity, and she tries to find out who the mysterious writer is, only to enter yet another dark world where her dreams and nightmares mingle majestically on the brink of some fantastic secret.

Setting: (In relation to _Andrew Lloyd Webber's The Phantom of the Opera_) This phanfic is not based on any of the books, but chiefly on the 2004 movie interpretation of the stage musical. Forgive me any inaccuracies. The time of this story is set a few years before Andre and Firmin are instated as the new owners along with Raoul le Vicomte as the patron.

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**Chapter One: A Prologue**

Intolerable. Feisty. Incorrigible. Hopeless. Stubborn. A nuisance. These were all terms I grew accustomed to in my childhood. Instead of sewing or playing with dolls, as perhaps I should have been, I was off fencing with the boys in town, or climbing trees in the orchid. As long as I could remember, I'd never exhibited a wish in being a lady. It drove my family crazy, and watching them try to tame the wild child I had a tendency to be, was beyond amusing. Little did they know that I _did_ have a lady-like side; my soft spot developing over time into the elite form of young, attractive men.

I suppose it happened to every young girl. For me, it didn't really hit until age 13 when I watched my friends slip away from me one-by-one, completely losing interest in the childish games we'd indulged in for so long. Perhaps for too long, but I often found myself sitting in the orchid at sunset, staring off at the horizon almost morosely thinking, 'They'll be back…someday, they'll be back.' And they never came back.

It's not to say that I was never a dreamer. I did have a weak-spot for music, literature, and dance. But such activities were always meant to be practiced by those involved in the middle to upper class. There was always Paris, but I never had the proper ambition or motivation. I needed to get my head out of the clouds and start thinking about reality.

Needless to say, I began to take my responsibilities upon myself, transforming into the lady I needed to be. One day the farm would be mine, and though I was expected to have taken a husband to run it (I had no brothers or sisters), I felt the need to learn how to do it on my own. I was still independent. My mother used to chide me, saying that I was acting out of my place in the world. A woman's place was in the home, she always told me. I disagreed. I was beyond my time.

By age 15, my parents had seen to securing me some lessons with a local, in exchange for the woman's valuable services, free food to her disposal while she stayed in a nearby town. "Culture our little girl," they had stated. I had blatantly told the woman, Mademoiselle Duprey, that I was _not_ their little girl. She had laughed and commented on my vibrant spirit, before stating that I reminded her of herself when she was a little girl. I never did quite understand how she meant that…

Days became weeks. Weeks became months. Then she introduced me to song. She took me to a small town nearby to see an opera, and I fell in love, completely and utterly, with music. I was worried that it was too late for me to do that, at the age of fifteen, but when Mlle. Duprey took me back to lessons, she informed me that it was never too late to learn song. She explained to me that song was something only the Heavens could gift a person with and that if I couldn't sing, I likely never would be able to. But she also said that if I could sing, there might be a future in this industry for me.

I remember well when she sat at her piano and smiled at me, opening the sheet music with delicate fingers. She played the piece for me first, deftly, humming the notes like a gentle songbird. I closed my eyes and listened, before opening them again and glancing almost breathlessly at the window. The only time I'd ever sung was in church, and no one had ever noticed anything spectacular. Then again, that had been long ago… But what if I couldn't do it?

She stopped playing. "Miss Lavonne. The aria." She called my attention back. I wanted very badly to please her then, staring at her aged face, her gray hair pulled back in a taught bun at the back of her neck, her black cotton day dress completely wrinkle-free. She was perfect, and looked like an angel despite her dark demeanor. I forced out another disenchanted smile. "Mademoiselle?" She was frowning.

"The introduction," I stated. She moved to say something about my stance, and I waved off her words politely, shifting to the proper singing position that I'd seen in the opera. I'd heard the piece before, of course, so I knew what I was singing. She shook her head, a bit irritated with me. Her fingers moved like fluid over the piano keys again and I was enraptured by the beautiful sound that came out of the instrument. It inspired my song and I took a deep breath.

The notes came as easy as speech, or walking, and then progressed into a steady but amorous flight. I'd never felt so free before in my life, although I knew that in front of anyone else, I would have been embarrassed to be singing like that. There was passion in my voice then, and some kind of magnificent release that unleashed the wings of my vocal chords, sending me flying in high-pitched sweeps and trills. Here there were no hordes of eyes to watch me should I make a mistake; just a dead silence for me to freely fill.

The song was fast progressing to a high point at which Mlle. Duprey tensed, slowing and softening her piano. She stared at me through her half-moon spectacles as if telling me to stop, but I did not. I kept going up and up until the notes were almost unbearable in their pitch, and yet, astoundingly inhuman and beautiful. As I descended, she picked up the piano again and I did not look at her as she finished her part. My job was to finish it off with and intricate scale sequence, moving up and down as if I were a human flute. I executed it perfectly and then looked to her for approval, a wide smile stretching across my features.

"Mon Dieu…" She whispered, staring at me, her eyes wide behind her spectacles.

"How was I, Mademoiselle Duprey?" I asked worriedly. The expression on her face frightened me and I had begun to think that I'd done something wrong. I hoped I hadn't failed her. I don't think that I could bear that… She stared at me more, speechlessly, before rising and grabbing me by the wrist.

Before I knew what was happening, we were taking off across the fields to my family's farm. I never knew the old woman could run like that. Breathlessly, we emerged on the front porch, and the door was flung open. In an incoherent babble, Mademoiselle Duprey talked to my mother. None of us could understand her for several minutes.

"Your daughter!" She finally cried at the confused look she was getting from my mother, "Your daughter! Madame! How could you not know!?" There were tears in her eyes and I stared between the two nervously. My mother gave me a stern look I was well accustomed to and I inched away.

"What has Faye done?" My mother asked. I saw her eyes drift to the back of the room where she kept the paddle. I winced with the thought. Mademoiselle Duprey shook her head most extravagantly and clutched my mother's shoulder with an iron-grip.

"Madame Lavonne! Had you any idea that your daughter's voice was blessed by the Heavens themselves? It gave the angels cause to weep and the earth to tremble!" She whispered urgently. At that, my mother laughed at her, and then laughed at me. She was always laughing at me. She thought me a runt--an unfit child. I tensed and felt tears coming to my eyes as I turned away. My mother would never believe such a thing. She was convinced I was worthless. But Mademoiselle Duprey almost hissed at her in reprimand and then seized me. I let out a short cry as she dragged me into the sitting room.

"Sing, Faye!" She commanded of me. I gulped and nodded slowly, glancing between the two nervously. Mademoiselle Duprey nodded at me. "From the beginning of the aria, dear," she said. My mother stood in the doorway, arms crossed disapprovingly. Her face was drawn in a tight frown and I flinched under that woman's look. She was everything I should have aspired to be and yet she was not. A mother should not be rigid or cruel. A mother should be tender and loving. "Faye!"

"Yes, Mademoiselle," I said. I focused, trying to blot out the fact that my mother was in the room. My eyes fell upon a vase and I stared at it before taking a breath and starting the song again. I did not falter. In my mind, I believed that my mother was not there. It was the same as the first time, just without the piano accompaniment. When I finished, I looked first at Mademoiselle Duprey. She was smiling at me. I then dared to look over at my mother.

Her lips were parted halfway in disbelief, eyebrows raised upon her forehead. Her arms were no longer crossed, but she had a steady hand on the doorframe. She looked from me to Mademoiselle Duprey. "Far from perfect, of course," stated Mademoiselle Duprey quickly, "But with training, she could be a great opera star!"

"She's a country girl," my mother stated. She was always being realistic.

"Maman, please!" I found myself saying.

"You be quiet, girl!" My mother shot. She glared at Mademoiselle Duprey. "Is it your desire to take my girl and put her into some grand show in Paris for men to gawk at her and treat her like scum? The theater is a dangerous, dark place!"

"Not the Opera Populaire," Mademoiselle Duprey retorted. She was a hard woman. I could tell she would stand her ground against my mother, and it gave me comfort to know that someone so reliable was standing up for me. My mother snorted.

"The Opera Populaire? And what makes you think you can get her into that?" My mother snapped.

"She doesn't _need_ me to get her into it," Mademoiselle Duprey stated evenly, "All she needs is some training and a means of transport. I will provide both."

"You are not sending my daughter to Paris!" My mother raged. I felt tears spilling out onto my cheeks at this point. I didn't understand what I wanted anymore and I was forced to hold my tongue.

"Your daughter will send herself to Paris whether it be your will or not! And I certainly will not stand here to be her teacher and watch her talent waste away in this tiny worthless village!" Mademoiselle Duprey shot in a flame of anger. My mother seemed to be taken aback. Mlle. Duprey flashed me a face and left in a flurry, leaving me behind.

"Don't you dare get any ideas!" My mother almost roared at me.

"Yes ma'am. No ideas," I answered softly, before retreating to my bedchamber in a fit of tears. I just wanted to sing. Remembering the feeling I got when I was singing made me feel better. My submissive stage ended that night as I packed up what little belongings I had and deftly slipped out the window. I left a note under the front door on the porch, stating that I was gone and she had better not come looking for me ever again. I did not detail where I'd be, and felt a twinge of guilt. This meant she would no longer send food to Mlle. Duprey. No matter. I'd find a way.

I arrived at her house late, and was not surprised to find the lights still on. I knocked on the door and she met me in her bedclothes. "Faye!" She exclaimed. I looked at her seriously for a moment and forced back the tears that wanted to break free.

"Mademoiselle, forgive me, but I will not live like this anymore. Please, Mademoiselle…teach me how to sing and take me to Paris," I asked. There were no questions asked that night. She had too much faith in me, and I had too much hope in her. And my mother never came looking for me after that night either, for which I was somewhat regretful, but thankful.

For two years I lived under the care of Mademoiselle Duprey, eventually taking on a job at the local tavern to keep food on the table. It was the only thing she expected of me outside of lessons. Other than that, I was to study until perfection was achieved. And then, she took me to Paris as promised.

It was everything I'd envisioned it to be and more; a spectacular city of lights and architecture. It was so big and open, so unlike home, and yet so intriguing. I felt terribly odd dressed in country fashion, but Mademoiselle Duprey pushed me onward. She didn't wait for me to try out my talent in smaller theaters. She marched me straight to the Opera Populaire, where they were in the process of holding auditions for "Zampa."

"Let me do the speaking," she stated as she walked me up the stairs, "The audition piece for this show is the first song you ever sang. If you can sing it the same as the first time you sang it, which I know you will do better, they will at least give you a small part." Her assurance was well received. The theater owner sat in the front row with his patron, and a panel of pre-selected judges. They looked up as we entered and then bent to whisper amongst each other. Mademoiselle Duprey was unwavering and held me firmly by the arm, well aware that I was intimidated and I might run.

"Messieurs," she addressed formally, "This is Miss Faye Lavonne. I have brought her here from Provence to sing for you." Some of the judges smirked and stifled laughs, but the owner looked intrigued, raising an intrigued brow.

"And what makes you so confident as to travel all the way from such a small country region to this great expanse of a city?" The patron inquired. Mademoiselle Duprey tilted her chin and glanced at me. Her gaze moved to the theater owner.

"Monsieur, may I?" She asked.

"Go on ahead Mademoiselle," the theater owner responded. She all but dragged me up onto the stage, centering me. I was rigid, and terrified of the looks that the panel was giving to me. She hissed at me softly.

"Have some confidence! You are a woman!" She chided. She pulled from me and before exiting the stage, motioned to the orchestra. "Maestro!" She called. The orchestra director moved his baton and nodded to the musicians, who lifted their instruments.

I'd never felt so alone and terrified in all of my life, eyes darting around the vast expanse of the red seats and gold workings, up to the grand, glass chandelier. Then my eyes fell upon Mademoiselle Duprey. I could not fail her. I'd come so far. The orchestra was playing and the faces of the judges turned to stone; except for the theater owner, whose face was frozen in a soft smile, eyes twinkling from the hordes of stage-lights.

So I sang that melody which I had become so fond of, and familiar with. I sang it perhaps, the best I had ever done. It may have been the opera atmosphere, which, during the course of the song, I had grown to adore. My heart had already moved in. Towards the end of my aria, I noticed Mademoiselle Duprey chatting with another woman that I had never seen. I finished with a glorious trill and stopped, looking at the panel of judges. The theater owner, then, began to applaud, standing almost gingerly from his chair and clapping. He was joined by the rest of them and Mademoiselle Duprey sent an approving wink my way. I smiled and took a half-bow, all confidence instilled within me. Somewhere in the rafters of the place, I could have sworn I heard another applauding, soft "Bravos" trilling through the shadows. But perhaps it was only the echo of those before me now.

"You did very well," the woman I did not recognize stepped forward, the clapping having ceased, "But tell me, Miss Lavonne. Has Mademoiselle Duprey taught you the art of dance?" There was some stern tone to her words, but her eyes betrayed her. She knew I could dance. I grinned almost sheepishly at her before motioning shyly at the orchestra to start up something. I removed my rigid bustle for the sake of movement and listened to the rhythm before prancing across the stage knowingly. It was an unknown choreography to me, and yet seemed so natural. Toe, heel, shuffle, step, twirl, pirouette… I leapt and twirled across the stage with exaggerated arm movements, strong in nature but graceful as a swan.

When I stopped, the unknown woman looked pleased and nodded to the panel of judges. She moved up onto the stage and laid a gentle hand on my arm. "Gentlemen, you would do well to cast her," she expressed. One of the judges seemed outraged.

"She has no name!" He protested. The rest of the row murmured in response.

"He has a point," Mademoiselle Duprey cut in, moving down the aisle toward the stage, "But she will certainly have a name after her first performance."

"This is insane!" The same judge stated.

"Why not let the Opera Ghost decide?" The unknown woman suggested. A murmur shot through the people again and the theater owner gave her a look.

"Madame Giry," he chuckled softly, almost mysteriously in a way. It made all of my senses alert at once. "Not everyone in this room holds belief in the Opera Ghost." Madame Giry (so it appeared her name was) bowed her head to the theater owner.

"You are right sir. I apologize," she answered.

"Oh, don't," laughed the theater owner. He shrugged off the incident. "We will contact Mademoiselle Lavonne as soon as the casting is complete. Perhaps we can offer her a spot."

"You would do well, Monsieur," nodded Madame Giry. Mademoiselle Duprey motioned to me. I nodded respectfully to all of them.

"Thank you," I said, before following after the beckoning Mademoiselle Duprey.

"Madame Giry has been kind enough to offer us staying accommodations in the dormitory for the evening, as the casting shall be done by morning," she said. I glanced once more back at the opera house before traveling down some corridors with her.

"Have you been here before?" I asked.

"Yes. I was one of the choreographers and vocal coaches. I used to work with Madame Giry," she answered swiftly.

"What of this Opera Ghost?" I asked, an edge creeping into my tone.

"Do not speak of him!" She snapped, whirling on me suddenly. I stared at her wide-eyed, confused. She shook her head. "There is more to the Opera Ghost mystery than some would allow it. But it is not your place to inquire of it."

That night, I settled down in a bed close to the windows. I looked out into Paris with a soft smile on my face. And for some reason, I thought of my mother. She would have never taken me here. Mademoiselle Duprey had forced me to overcome my fear, and I had conquered it in a way. The candles were burning out. I sighed softly and moved the drapes to cover the lights of Paris, before my hand fell against the nearby table and felt a piece of parchment with something soft and bulging on top. I picked it up and found that it was an un-addressed note, and there was a red skull seal on it. My fingers trembled a bit at that seal and finally braved to open the paper.

Greeting my eyes was a beautiful handwriting that flowed across the page like some type of ancient art.

'Mademoiselle,

Your audition this afternoon was entrancing. It is clear to me that your voice, however, still needs a great deal of work. You are young and new to the theater, and it shows. If you would like, I offer you my services, such at this, to improve your skills and better prepare you for the stage.

I realize, of course, that you already have a teacher, but I am willing to take you beyond her mere experience, therefore subjecting you to true music. I hope that you will accept, and even at this, I will see that you are given a part in this production, as my ties with the theater owner are infallible.'

The note ended then, with no signature. I stared at it for a moment. Who would send such an odd letter? How was I to respond to someone who did not openly approach me about these matters? Raising a brow, I set the note aside and looked around my dark dormitory room. I pulled out a bit of parchment and some ink, sitting at a nearby desk to write a response.

'Dear Monsieur, ou Madame,

You are most kind to offer me these tidings, but I fear I am not one to jump very quickly at such offers. I am not certain as to your identity, but I must say that you seem most intriguing. Beggars can't be choosers. I am not sure on how you plan to teach me, or what gives you the right to infer that you are any better than Mademoiselle Duprey, but I would never turn down lessons for the world. So, if you please, leave instructions.

Sincerely,

Faye Lavonne

P.S. Thank you for guaranteeing a role; it is rare that I've come across such acceptance in the world.'

I folded the note and sealed it with a drop of wax from one of the candles, glancing around the room once again. Moving back to the window, I placed it exactly where I'd found the note and paused, looking at it. Shaking my head with the thought that it would still be there in the morning, I turned in for the night.

I barely noticed in my dreams, the walking shadows of my room. Restlessly, I turned over and thought I saw a figure stooped over by the window, but I immediately drifted back off to sleep; some haunted melody resounding in my head on the sweetest voice—like an angel of music.


	2. In the Absence of Fear

**Chapter Two: In the Absence of Fear**

I woke early to an impenetrable darkness that had settled into the room. Rising slowly, I tried to recall the vast fog-laden portions of my dreaming, and yet found that I could not remember. I moved to the window and opened the shades to find the note I had written last night, gone. I looked around the floor as if it had possibly fluttered off with a draft, but it was indeed missing. I wasn't very alone in this room.

Glancing almost darkly across the floor towards a thin stream of light that tinkered in from the hall, I put on my robe and opened the door to an uncanny silence. Shifting down the hall, I descended the stairs to a small makeshift sitting room where Mademoiselle Duprey made silent conversation with Madame Giry over a note on the small table. They looked up as I entered and Mademoiselle Duprey hid the note quickly, as if I had not seen it.

"What's the matter?" I asked. Madame Giry's face was completely shadowed. Mademoiselle Duprey did not look at me.

"Child, you've made it very far," Mademoiselle Duprey started in a shaky voice, "But I fear that my part is over." I was astonished. Moving over to the table, I looked her in the eyes, and I saw something I'd never seen on that woman's face before: fear.

"Mademoiselle…?" I began. I was silenced by Madame Giry, who stood almost abruptly.

"For the safety of your instructor, you will be placed in my care," Madame Giry stated.

"Safety?" I was truly puzzled. Mademoiselle Duprey nodded gravely.

"I seem to have forgotten why I left the Opera Populaire in the first place," Mademoiselle Duprey answered.

"Mademoiselle, I do not yet have a role!" I protested.

"You do," Madame Giry stated. She pulled out a piece of paper and handed it to me. It was a copy of the cast list, and I had been placed in the third most important role as Alice. I looked up at both of them with a desperate expression.

"Please, Mademoiselle! You have been like a mother to me!" I pleaded.

"Yes. And the mother bird has raised a fine chick. It's time you went out on your own, my little Faye. You've always yearned for independence. Now you can have it. I have secured you a position in this place and you will be watched over." Mademoiselle Duprey rose rigidly, "It will be no other way."

I could feel tears coming to my eyes as I glanced despondently between the two of them. Both exhibited grayed faces, devoid of any type of warmth and I vaguely wondered what I'd been expecting. I didn't want to be alone in this strange New World. I suddenly felt as though I was being pulled away from all I'd known and thrust into the abyss with no cause to distinguish dream from reality.

I was like a fish out of water and all at once I tugged at Mademoiselle Duprey's sleeve, much like a child. "Please, do not go!" I whimpered. A stern look overcame her countenance and she jerked away, slapping my face lightly—once on either side. I gasped, looking at her.

"You are not a little girl. You are a woman. I expect no less," she stated warningly. She flashed Madame Giry a look. "Take care of her," she said, "See that she stays out of trouble. No wandering about in dark places."

"Of course," Madame Giry said, taking hold of me by the shoulders. I wanted to scream after my mentor. She'd been every inspiration to me. But there was some darker force at work here and as she left the place, the note she'd hidden dropped from her hand and fluttered to the floor. I quickly covered it with a foot, noting that it had the same seal as had been present on the one I had received last night. Madame Giry did not notice.

So once I'd composed myself, I snatched up the parchment and returned to my room to find proper day wear. Choreography for "Zampa" would take place today. Once in the confines of my staying quarters again, I looked at the broken seal and opened the note. It was the same handwriting from the other night. My heart skipped a beat.

'Mademoiselle Duprey,

We meet again. I admit I wish the circumstances were a bit more proper, but at this stands my current proposition. You will leave Miss Lavonne to my care, for now only I can coach her to perfection. If you choose to ignore this letter, your next meeting will be with the line you have dared to cross.

O.G.'

I stared at the note with wide eyes. What had seemed like a polite writer to me the other night had now turned into a mysterious stalker of sorts. I rose quickly, rushing to the window in time to see the carriage pull away with Mademoiselle Duprey. I knew it was the last time that I'd see her.

For now, I was on my own. And I had made up my mind to officially refuse this new 'teacher' that had made his appearance only through paper and ink. Narrowing my eyes, I stuffed the letter away resolvedly and changed.

Rehearsals were difficult in the respect that this woman Carlotta (the alleged and designated 'Diva' of this theater group) seemed to think that the show was about her. Thus she expected the choreography to be geared around her character, Camille. I found myself rolling my eyes more than once at her character's absurdity and was secretly glad that I was endorsed with the role of destroying her lover in the opera. She also seemed to look down upon me, even though I was of equal importance as a plot driver, for which I was utterly resentful. I wasn't even sure what they found to be so great about her anyway…

Evening found me collapsing exhaustedly on my bed, my feet hurting entirely too much. As I cast a sidelong glance across the room, I saw a note awaiting me by the window. I rose slowly and traversed the floorboards, picking up the letter and opening it.

'Miss Lavonne,

I think you will find the circumstances to permit my lessons much more simple with your old instructor gone. Your first lesson will be at ten 'o' clock sharp this evening in the theater. Be there or expect consequences.

Your new teacher.'

I could feel tears of rage welling up in my eyes at the insanity of it all and I ripped the note in half. "Oh I'll be there," I whispered, reaching under my bed and drawing out my rapier. "And your consequences can meet mine."

I loosely tied my red curls back from my burning green eyes with a ribbon, dressed quite informally in boots, breeches, a shift, corset, and a robe. Shortly before ten, I descended the spiral staircase deftly, trying not to make it obvious that I was armed. Lucky for me, no one seemed to be around except for Madame Giry, who was taking a nap in a chair nearby. I moved silently towards the theater, which was shrouded in darkness.

Moving almost fearlessly onto the stage, I noted a few candles that still burned in the orchestra pit. My green eyes sought the shadows for my apparent 'teacher' but I was greeted with no sound nor figure. Relaxing my shoulders a bit, I squinted out into the audience and could have sworn I had seen a moving shadow, but there was no accompanying ruffle of fabric.

"I see you got my note," a booming voice alerted me. It sounded soft, and yet came from all directions. My head swerved to find the source, but it was all around me.

"Among other things," I answered dryly.

"Then we shan't waste a moment. Let us start your lesson—"

"You can start by explaining to me why you sent my former instructor away, and who you think are," I interrupted ignorantly, keeping my stance upon the stage rigid. There was a hesitance.

"Why my dear. I had thought you would be happy to move onto a teacher that can give you experience beyond what you've learned from Mademoiselle Duprey," the voice said almost soothingly. My fingers closed around the hilt of my rapier at that, eyes narrowed and flashing.

"I did not come here to learn things from a bodiless voice. I came here for answers," I jetted. There was silence on the air again. I felt alone in the darkness but I stood my ground, regaining some of the confidence from my childhood. When I had to defend myself, I would do so.

"Do you think it wise, girl, to toy with the things you know not?" The voice sneered. I shuddered slightly at the tone the voice had taken on before absolving my fear once again.

"Who's toying, Monsieur?" I asked. I heard a flutter of fabric and footsteps behind me. In a whirl, my rapier was out and I had turned to face who-ever waited in the shadows. The figure paused. "Now are you going to give me a reason or shall I give _you_ a reason?" I asked darkly, my eyes centered on the bare silhouette of the form.

"Witty woman," he breathed, "That attitude will get you nothing in the world of the theater." It was a statement I would not take lightly. He rounded me and I followed him until he stood in front of the bare light of the candles, dark and menacing. I backed up a step from his empowering shadow. My fingers trembled a bit around the hilt of my sword as a shadow cast itself across his face, revealing a mask. This was no ordinary man. And I'd certainly angered him beyond my actual intent.

I lowered my weapon, keeping my eyes focused on him. "Who are you and what do you want from me?" I asked cautiously.

"Well first of all, I'd appreciate it if my student did not unsuspectingly pull _weapons_ on me, because I caution you, I could do far worse to you," His tone was almost bored but with warning. I gritted my teeth and narrowed my eyes at him. "Second of all, I'd deeply appreciate it if you would not snap like an alligator."

"I'm an independent woman. I shall do as I wish," I retorted.

"Don't make me change your mind." His tone was even and warning. I stood my ground.

"I'm not afraid of a faceless shadow," I spat. The insult drew more of a reaction than I had expected as the figure lunged at me, drawing his own rapier. I crossed blades easily, but with a surprised face and a gasp escaping me.

"Well it's good to see that it's not merely for show, m'lady," he said angrily, pulling his blade from mine and advancing once again.

"Those who carry swords do not carry them for the purpose of intimidation," I answered coldly, meeting his blow expertly and moving him back from my stance, closer to the lights.

"That is well, seeing as how there is nothing intimidating about a woman with a sword," he retorted, his blade slashing dangerously close to my shoulder. I pushed him back towards the edge of the stage, which he seemed to dance precariously along. The ribbon had flown loose from my hair, releasing a wild mop of curls that kept getting in the way.

"There is nothing intimidating about a speaking shadow," I answered roguishly.

"You try my patience," he said almost lazily, hooking my rapier and thrusting it halfway across the stage. I watched the glint of the metal die away in the shadows as the figure before me stilled almost gracefully. With a steady whipping sound, he sheathed his weapon and retrieved mine, holding it for the time. "Now, perhaps, little tiger, we can try lessons again," he stated, moving away with my sword. I caught my breath, glaring after his retreating shadow.

"I will not sing for you," I interjected. There was a deadly hesitation and I immediately regretted what I'd said, biting my lip in personal reprimand.

"You will not sing for that which has secured you such an _honorable_ position in such a _competitive_ industry as the theater?" The voice questioned smoothly. He did not wait for me to answer. "I have offered you my services. I have been cordial, and you advance upon me with a sword as if I have threatened your life."

"You threatened my other teacher's life!" I spat, tears coming to my eyes.

"Mademoiselle Duprey knew she couldn't take you past auditions. She knew she was going to hand you over to me. There was no need to threaten her life," he answered coldly.

"So why did you?" I demanded.

"For reinforcement! A memory jolt! To be certain that she followed orders!" He stated angrily.

"Mademoiselle Duprey is a reasonable woman," I argued.

"And you're supposed to be!" He yelled. His booming voice silenced me and I stared down into the orchestra pit where he'd situated himself. He was toying with the hilt of my rapier, and the fact that he had it made me nervous. "People like you do not have futures in the theater. They argue with those of authority. You, are arguing with the top-most authority of the Paris Opera. Now, I give you one last chance before I start to threaten _your_ life."

"I have no reason to listen to you lest you give me a name by which I can call you," I answered stubbornly.

"Erik," he stated, "Now, sing your scales my feisty little song-bird." I felt myself fuming with his words, but I had given him some sort of compromise, to which I was now bound. Almost painfully, I sang him a scale. "That was terrible," he said.

"I did not come here to be criticized by the likes of you!" I agonized, staring daggers down into the orchestra pit.

"I am the only one who will be honest with you. Now if you want something that sounds better and perhaps less direct, that was better than what Carlotta could ever do. Your voice is far too tense, my dear. Even when singing a scale, you must relax and let the notes flow," he said evenly.

"Example," I demanded. He let out a deep sigh and laughed almost remorsefully to himself.

"Mademoiselle Duprey sure knows how to pick them…" He muttered to himself.

"I beg your pardon?" I growled.

"Your scales." He spat. Turning around, I stomped my foot angrily and squirmed, a dissatisfied growl releasing itself from my throat. There was silence as I centered myself on the darkness, closing my eyes and thinking. Inspiration. Melody. Notes. Relax. "Deep breaths…" He whispered. His voice blended into my thoughts. I breathed softly and then released the notes with a graceful ease, trilling through the air. It was enchanting in a way, and after my rather forward display to him, I was rather surprised I could even dish this out. "Now…the aria…" he breathed.

I flowed into the piece after my scales, feeling completely relaxed and one with the stage. I felt as if a gentle breeze were surrounding me. It blew through my hair, tangling the already strewn curls and grazing my pale neck. The notes themselves clung to the air like divine angels, creating an invisible mist that spilled out around the darkness and myself. The notes went up.

"Sing," he whispered. The notes went up more.

"Sing," he demanded more firmly. His voice was in my ear. His fingers were greedily pulling at the base of my neck, another hand balancing my waist and forcing me to breathe deeply from my stomach. The notes swelled like a chorus of nightingales.

"Sing!" The words were whispered harshly in my ear and I ascended once more to that level that lay beyond what seemed physically possible. He released his grip on me, hands still hovering loosely. He was breathing on my neck, and ever I sang. I sang until the theater was left in nothing but the silence of the echoes that once were. He uttered something into my ear; something that did not register.

I was revived from the heat of my passionate vocals by the cold sensation of my sword hilt pressed into my hand. I was drowsy as I sheathed the weapon and moved to look where eyes should have been, but only darkness dwelt. "That's enough for tonight," he breathed almost sensually, "I expect the same tomorrow night. Same time, same place. If there are changes, I will say so in my next letter. Go, Miss Lavonne. Sleep bids you." He snapped his fingers and seemed to vanish, the candles flickering out.

I stood there alone in the darkness for a spell, just staring emotionlessly out into that abyss. Erik or the opera ghost? Or were they perhaps the same person? I wouldn't question it. Not yet anyway. He was the only one who had ever gotten me to sing like that… Even I could recognize when I'd done my best, and that was, decidedly, my best. I didn't want to be ungrateful in any way.

Somehow I found my way back to my room in the darkness, meeting no resistance from anyone. They had all wisely retired for the evening. Moving once again into my room, I glanced out the window into the lights of Paris once more. It almost made me miss the country—almost. I knew that the countryside was far too boring for my tastes and that I'd made a good choice in moving to Paris.

I changed my clothes and slipped into bed, looking around the room almost suspiciously. Was he watching me? I shook my head and chided myself for my fears, allowing myself to slip easily off into dreams. And there in those dark dreams, I danced with flames to enchanted music played by unseen hands; watched by eyes of darkness…and fire.

**A/N: **_Yey two!!!! R and R. Your support is appreciated._


	3. Refusal

**Chapter Three: Refusal**

My dreams were dark and riddled with a nightmarish fear, yet no horrific images appeared. I woke some time before dawn with a gasp, staring about my room darkly. I caught my breath and rose shakily, crossing the floor to the window. In the dim light that seeped in from outside, I could already see the waiting letter. I lit a candle and tore into it almost desperately, eyes going over the fragile script as though it was the answer to life.

'Good morning Miss Lavonne,

I trust you slept well last night. I have a request of you, which I failed to mention last evening. You are to tell no one who I am. I exist to no one but you and Madame Giry. It is a priority that my lessons remain secret, please do not ask for reasons that would explain. Also, there are certain young men who tend to get tangled up in a promising star's success. I suggest that you avoid these types readily, as they will severely intercept your career.

All of this remains in the best interest of my student.

Erik.'

I raised a brow at the letter. Young men? Secrets? Interferences? Erik seemed to address these matters almost lightly, but sternly. There was a purpose behind his suggestions—or were they commands? I sighed, rubbing my temples and recalling the events of last night as if I'd been drunk. Perhaps I had been. But who was I to say?

Pulling out a fresh piece of parchment, a quill, and my ink, I seated myself by the dim glow of my one candle and pondered what to write. Suddenly I didn't want to go to lessons tonight. I had a bad feeling about it. I'm not sure how that would be taken by my instructor-extraordinaire. But was not attending my only hope of rebelling? My quill hovered over the paper indecisively. Why did I not want to go? I pursed my lips. Was it my nature? Was it the fact that I could not see him or speak of him? I had thought I'd seen a mask somewhere in the shadows. Who was this man? O.G. The initials set in my head. Why would he sign something to Mademoiselle Duprey with these letters?

Opera Ghost. No, that was ridiculous! I nearly scoffed at myself for the thought. Well, there was only one way to find out. Breathing deeply, I began to compose my letter.

'Dear Erik,

Your letter was well received, but under the assumption of too much on your part. I did not sleep well at all with the Mademoiselle's presence gone. It is something I may or may not grow accustomed to over time, but for now my discomfort grows. Something strange is at work and my conscience will see these mysteries solved. You speak of avoiding certain persons that may interrupt my singing, but I warn you, this is the least of your troubles. I would not reveal your identity for the world, Opera Ghost.

All of this remains in the best interest of the WORLD.

Faye.'

The letter was a complete mockery of Monsieur Erik and perhaps a little too haughty on my part. Still, I found myself sealing the letter with a triumphant smile, leaving it by the window. I knew very well that I was playing with fire. I dressed and left to go find a quick breakfast before rehearsals.

As I passed Madame Giry in the hall, I flashed her a suspicious look before tromping off. I felt she knew something about this, but let the suspicion wade in the back of my subconscious thoughts. After a pastry and a quick cup of black coffee, I had some time to explore the place. I found my way to a small chapel that lay away from all of the action. It was very dusty and relatively abandoned. Though I could tell it was still used on occasion, as a few candles seemed to be lit. Raising a brow, I looked around at the stained glass windows and paintings. A draft wafted through the place, moaning softly along the cracks. A chill tingled along my spine and I looked around to see if anyone was there. No one was present. Shrugging, I exited the chapel and made my way to another grueling rehearsal.

Carlotta was more annoying than what she'd been the other day. After inquiring about it to a chorus girl, she informed me that Carlotta would only get worse. The thought was more than discomforting. All hell broke loose when her mouth spray went missing. I seriously contemplated quitting when they motioned to practice my aria, and Mademoiselle Carlotta started throwing a tantrum about them paying more attention to me (which was entirely not true). Needless to say, all were dismissed except Carlotta, who was given the 'honor' of a private rehearsal for her aria. At least it gave me a longer opportunity to research Monsieur Erik, or rather, the Opera Ghost. I'd also neglected my journal, which I'd update with my research.

Dressing simply, I went in search of the theater archives. I was also armed with a knife, as people were less apt to notice that rather than a rapier. I loved my rapier. A boy from my hometown had bought it for me off of a traveling band of Gypsies. He had told me to think of him whenever and if ever I used it. Somehow he seemed to doubt there'd ever be a need. I smiled at the thought of him. My smile faded to a frown, however, as I came across what appeared to be the archives. I should have known that they would be locked.

I looked to see if anyone was around before whipping out my dagger and fiddling with the lock. It was an old lock, which luckily opened quite easily under my tampering. The door gave way with a resounding creak. Looking around one last time, I walked in and shut the door. The only light streamed in from two small portals near the ceiling. The place generally seemed to be well kept, rows of neat book keeping organized by year and month. Lighting a candle, I browsed the place thoroughly. I needed to narrow things down a bit. I wasn't even sure what exactly I was looking for…mysterious occurrences, perhaps?

I randomly selected a handful of documents from several years ago. Skimming, nothing sparked my interest. I replaced the papers and selected a brief account of last year's events. The word 'mysteriously' caught my eye and I seated myself, beginning to read avidly.

'January, 1864: In a production of "La Dame Blanche," a stagehand was discovered dead just after Act One. His body showed signs of struggle and witnesses attested to a masked man strangling the boy. There was never any proof of this story, however, except for slender rope-marks about his neck. The alleged witnesses are said to have suffered hallucinations by trauma.'

"A masked man?" I whispered to myself. Shaking my head at the absurdity, I copied the passage and moved on. Inside, my heart was racing. If any of this were related…

'February, 1864: Man found hanging from the catwalk during rehearsals. Phantom suspected.'

'February, 1864: Lead singer mysteriously vanished opening night, only to return the next morning to pack up and leave Paris with no explanation.'

'March, 1864: Mysterious voice heard from box five, followed by immediate sabotage of the production. Opera Ghost suspected.'

'March, 1864: Girl speaks of mysterious instructor and vanishes from Paris.'

'March, 1864: The Phantom of the Opera makes an appearance at a local gala, terrifying attendees with a vibrant show of smoke and flames. The mystery of the man behind the ghost remains to be unknown.'

'March, 1864: World-renowned detective comes to investigate the mystery of the Opera ghost. Declares masked man a hoax created by the theater owner to keep interest in his company.'

I documented all of these cases with a flourish, trying not to think about it too much. My heart was racing inside as every word flowed across my page. Then suddenly, I heard someone out in the hall. My heart stopped. Looking up, I shut my journal and gathered the papers, stowing them away hastily. I ducked behind an aisle as the door creaked open. There were footsteps as someone's shadow moved across the floor to where I'd been working. I stared through wide eyes and caught my breath on a silent air, my eyes draping their gaze across the shelves before me. It looked to be a mini-library of sorts. What particularly caught my eye was a dull ancient-looking book. Leaning over, my eyes grazed the title as a listless finger trailed over the faded gold lettering. 'Children's Tales,' it read. I don't know why the book caught my fancy, but someone was about to round the corner.

Thinking quickly, I grabbed a book and thrust it across the room. "Hello?" The voice was distinctly Madame Giry. Bolting, I fled the room and didn't stop until I'd reached my room. It was about nine 'o' clock when I settled into my dwelling to review my notes. My heart was pounding in my head relentlessly. Then I looked over at the window and saw a waiting note, the red mound of a seal sitting with a dead weight upon the starch-white paper. Gulping, I moved over and took it with reluctant fingers, prying the seal from the paper and opening it.

'Mademoiselle Lavonne,

You would do well to remember your place. Any threat you hold against me is petty in comparison to what I could do to you. As it were, mockeries of your teacher are NOT appreciated, nor will they be permitted. You will learn to hold your tongue, and your quill, to refrain from such obscenities. All I do is with good reason, and you are NEVER to question my judgement.

Ten 'o' clock sharp, my little parakeet.

Erik.'

I narrowed my eyes at the letter and thrust it to the floor. Whipping out my rapier from under the bed, I unsheathed it with an angry expression marring the lines of my face. "Who are you calling parakeet, my murderous ami?" I asked darkly. It took a moment for the immediate rage of the situation to settle out, but it did and I regained control. Sighing, I knew I'd made up my mind to not go to lessons. So what would I do?

I eventually set about arming myself with proper wear and such, should I meet any kind of attack for not appearing this evening. I was already well aware of the fact that he had access to my room. So where could I go where I would meet no disturbance from him? _Away from the Opera house._

My feet marched me out of the room and down the stairs, just as the clock tolled ten. Pausing, I looked around and saw no activity, so proceeded to the front foyer. A certain fear stirred within me as I gazed across that vast expanse of darkness, uncertain if I would meet some kind of end for the fact that I was stealing away for the evening. I just needed to find a way to solve this problem of mine… my new teacher, that is.

Taking a deep breath, I moved across the hall, trying to make as little noise as possible. I was about halfway across the tiled floor when a nearly bone-shattering force tripped me. I felt a rope wind around my ankles and suddenly I was being dragged backwards. I fell with a thump to the floor as the strength behind the rope grew. I didn't panic. My rapier was out in an instant and even in the blindness of the dark, I sliced the rope with ease and wrestled my feet out of its embrace, fleeing towards the dim light of the front doors. I heard a whipping sound behind me but latched onto the handles of the front door, jerking it open and flinging myself out into the open.

I fell but quickly scrambled to my feet, stumbling down the steps and into the street. I didn't look back, but I heard footsteps. I ran. Then I realized I had no idea where I was going, but I ran anyway. Things shook in the rush of my flight, my vision almost a blur. Then suddenly I heard the whipping sound again and my ankles were latched together firmly. I went toppling into the Cobblestone Street, my hands catching my fall ever so slightly. I went for my rapier and moved it to slice the rope, but to my surprise, another rope wrapped itself around the weapon and sent it clanging off to the side.

The rope came at me again and arrested my neck, pulling taught. Oh God, this was it. I was going to die. I screeched slightly as the rope slowly began to suffocate me. "Consider this to be my first show of mercy," Hissed Erik's voice from behind me. He dragged me harshly across the road to his feet and released the tension of the rope. I coughed and sputtered, hands going to my throat blindly, my eyes bulging at his now-lit figure. The visible half of his face was astoundingly beautiful, but the other half was covered by a white mask. An agitated fire burned in his eyes as he unhooked the second rope from my neck, and then the first.

He bent over me and swept me into strong arms, his ropes hooked loosely over his shoulders. Looking back now, I realized I hadn't gotten far from the Opera house at all. Maybe I had run in a circle… He picked up my rapier and slipped it back into my sheath, taking my hands and placing them over his shoulders as if to instate that I was not to touch my blade. I groaned as a certain pain set into all of my limbs. I felt as though I were catching fire between the running, the falling, and the taught sensation of his ropes. He said nothing, but carried me swiftly into the Opera house, all the way back to the stage. He set me on the edge and looked at me with a serious expression. There were more candles lit than what were lit the other night, and I could see his eyes.

"No running," he scolded, finally removing himself from my line of sight and sitting somewhere off in the shadows. I blinked back tears at the incident and cracked my neck in some vain attempt to stunt the pain. "Your scales, Miss Lavonne," he called.

"How am I to sing after that?" I demanded ruthlessly, sending a glare in the direction he'd gone in.

"You will listen to me—"

"—I most certainly will not!" A rope landed around my neck and drew me off the stage, face pressed flat against the un-swept floor. I gasped, my hands pulling at the rope desperately. He crossed into the light once more, gathering the slack in his hand and pulling me up to standing. He held me from the rope as if it were a collar, looking steadily, but darkly into my eyes.

"You will do everything I ask of you from now on. Else, not only will your beautiful vocal chords be out of function, but your entire neck will be snapped under the pressure of my lasso." He released me abruptly, and I fell in a gasping heap on the floor. Tears blinded my eyes as he retreated once more into the shadows. "Keep in mind, Miss Lavonne, that I am here to help you and if I must force my help upon you, I will do so. You will learn discipline or you will not succeed," he stated evenly.

"What if I decide I do not want to succeed?" I gasped breathlessly, trying to clear my thoughts.

"If you did not want to succeed, you'd have no reason to be here," he answered, "Now, for the last time, Miss Lavonne, your scales." I was fuming again, an uncontrollable hatred running rampant through my veins. The silence lingered and I abruptly lifted myself up onto the stage, taking my stance. I took a deep breath and relaxed myself, trying to tone down the urge to lunge at my instructor and show him the meaning of pain.

After going through my scales a multitude of times (until he was satisfied), I broke into the aria again. Just like the other night, he returned to the stage, hands pressing at my waist to keep me steady, his own voice urging me on. I tried not to let it affect me, but it did. There was something strangely intoxicating about the way his hands fell along my curves; his voice in whispers coaxing me into the high Heavens of melodies. It was inspiring, and I couldn't help the way I had begun to feel.

"Bravissimo," he whispered when I had finished, "You are progressing." He brought my hand to his lips and kissed it. I turned my head slightly to meet his eyes, his chin nearly resting on my shoulder. I blinked as his lips curved into a small but sly smile. I stared at him speechlessly for a moment before jerking away.

"Je te deteste. Bonne nuit, Monsieur," I called, exiting the stage. (I hate you. Good night). I didn't look back at him to see how he would react, but ran to my room, slamming the door behind me and leaning against it. I caught my breath and stared at the window through bleary eyes. What was happening to me? I had just been in the arms of a _murderer. _Forget the fact that he was the infamous Opera ghost; he was a _murderer._ I closed my eyes and sunk against the door, weeping like a child.

"Faye?" A voice whispered tenderly against the door, "Faye?" I cried harder.

"Go away," I whimpered, my hand gripping the handle to hold the door shut.

"Why are you crying my vicious little tiger?" The voice swooned.

"I am not your vicious little tiger." I deadpanned, wiping the tears fiercely from my eyes. The voice laughed softly. I could hear his fingers prying at the door-crack. I closed my eyes again, shivering at his laughter. "You are cruel…" I whispered.

"Somehow I doubt that I am the cruel one," the voice hissed back in response. I jolted against the door, suddenly realizing that he had been slowly inching it open. His foot was inside and I desperately tried to push it closed. His hand snaked around and grabbed me by the wrist, flinging me against the wall as he gained access to the room. A short cry escaped me but his fingers slid deftly over my mouth as he shut the door. He caged my body against the wall and drew the hair from my neck. "Now tell me…what exactly is your problem?" He whispered. I flinched against the short puffs of his breath that ran along my bare skin. He stroked my arm assuringly. "Tell me," he insisted.

"I will never tell you." I answered softly. There was a pause before he growled and threw me to the floor, stepping over the heap of my sorrow-stricken body to the door. He laid a hand on the handle, flashing me a dark expression.

"I offered you a shoulder," he stated blandly, "Just remember that it was you, and not I, that refused it." With that, he left the room and shut the door calmly behind him.


	4. Shattered

**Chapter Four: Shattered**

"Faye!" I woke with a jump, eyes opening wide. I soon discovered that was a bad idea, as the drapes were not closed and the sunlight was streaming into my room. I was hit with an immediate headache as I covered my eyes and fell back down. I had vaguely caught sight of Madame Giry standing nearby and groaned softly. "Faye, get up!" She scolded, prodding me. I rolled myself up in the covers defensively, still not all the way awake.

"No…" I groaned softly.

"Faye!" She thwacked me sternly and I toppled out of bed in a heap of blankets.

"Ow!" The word escaped as a screech. "What'd you do that for?" I grumbled, trying to untangle myself. Blanket, nightdress, sheet, robe…

"Do you want to miss rehearsals?" The woman hissed, throwing my dancing attire at me.

"Yes…" I grumbled, finally discerning the mess of fabrics and rising slowly. I clutched my head and looked over at the window. There was a note. It was like waking from nightmares to another nightmare, though this wasn't much of a nightmare so much as it was reality… I picked up the paper wearily and broke the seal, clearing my eyes to read it.

'Ten 'o' clock tonight, same place.' _Wow, he's so insightful sometimes…_ I thought sadistically as I tossed the letter aside. Madame Giry was watching me. I sighed and looked back at her.

"Who is he?" I asked. I knew she knew something about him, but she simply shook her head at me.

"Get ready for rehearsal," she stated, before leaving in a flourish of dark fabric. I frowned and glared after her, shutting the door and getting changed. I started contemplating the best way to disengage Monsieur Mystery's ropes so that he'd have nothing to threaten me with, but decided it would be useless considering how many ropes there were in that theater. I'd just have to think of something else.

I barely had time for a quick bite to eat before I whisked myself into the theater, just in time for rehearsal. Carlotta was looking exceptionally prissy today and I wondered if I'd ever hear the end of it. For some reason, she was the only person I'd ever felt the desire to rip the vocal chords from with my bare hands…

"See what happens when you let an amateur take a lead?" She declared to Piangi.

"Mademoiselle Lavonne is very much on time," Monsieur Reyer stated, moving down into the orchestra pit. Carlotta glowered and I found myself walking straight up to her, looking her in the eye evenly.

"Good morning Miss Carlotta," I said, almost through gritted teeth. She literally stuck her nose up in the air and turned her back to me. I raised a brow and crossed my arms before looking around to see if anyone was watching. Only a few chorus girls were. Flashing them a devious grin of sorts, my foot flew under Carlotta's feet and tripped her. With an unladylike squeal, she toppled over, skirts flying everywhere. "Oh, Mademoiselle! I'm so sorry!" I said with a sickeningly sweet tone, "Here, let me help you!" I offered a hand, which she smacked. She glared at me and rose on her own, still trying to straighten herself out.

"You better watch yourself, little snake!" She snarled. I just smirked at her.

"Oh trust me. I will. But just remember that snakes bite." I said with a bit of a dead voice. Her eyebrows went up, her eyes flaring with a stoked rage. The chorus girls were giggling, and even Piangi nearby, was trying to stifle a grin. Monsieur Reyer looked intrigued and I half-expected him to interrupt, but he didn't.

"You--!" She started inexpressibly before just screaming in rage.

"Snakes are also very sneaky, and cunning, Mademoiselle," I kept going. Her fingers hooked into claws and she lunged at me. I ducked out of her way and she fell off the stage into the orchestra pit. Laughing a bit to myself, I lounged back and looked down at her, keeping my distance. She growled like a terrier and tried to claw her way back onto the stage. I smirked. Monsieur Reyer was trying very hard not to laugh and Piangi had given in. "I'd hate to be such a nuisance, Mademoiselle," I stated, setting my jaw in a smug look.

"No one insults me!" She screeched at me in anger, "I am the lead in this show and I outweigh you in any song!" Her excessive make-up made her look a bit scary…in a clownish sort of fashion.

"Oh aye, outweigh." I grinned. I could tell I'd crossed the line with my comment because in a flourish, she worked herself up onto the stage and latched onto my ankles. I went toppling over but I couldn't help but laugh, feeling liberated now that I'd finally been able to insult her. Piangi worked her off of me and I stood again, brushing myself off. She gave me one final glare.

"You will never have a lead! You will never be as good as I am!" She growled.

"Well thank God for that." I replied, chuckling and moving back across the stage. The event put me in a much better mood for the day. Some of the chorus girls broke out into a giggly applause. Madame Giry was standing on the other side of the stage, glaring at me. "I apologize, Madame," I said, bowing my head. She said nothing but moved into teaching some new choreography. The whole time we rehearsed, Carlotta shot me an evil glare whenever she had the chance. I found it more amusing than threatening and just smiled.

When rehearsals finally ended, I flounced off to my room in a better mood than I'd been in probably the past year. Another note awaited me, which I picked up gracefully, slipping my nails through the seal, before receiving a nasty paper-cut. "Ow!" I cursed silently, waving my finger and looking at the fine little red line. I rolled my eyes in aggravation before opening the letter.

'I failed to mention you should be prepared to dance this evening.'

I was starting to get slightly annoyed with the shortness of his letters, but perhaps he was too busy to write anything of significant length. Plus… I'd stopped answering them. Shrugging, I put the note aside and looked around. It was only about seven in the evening, so I still had three hours. There was a knock on my door.

Hesitantly, I moved over to it and opened it, to find one of the chorus girls out there. She introduced herself as Lynne and smiled shyly. "There eez a young Monsieur from ze extras zat would like to take you out to dinner tomorrow night." Her voice didn't sound particularly French to me, but I didn't question her origin.

"Oh, and who might this young Monsieur be exactly?" I asked, raising a brow. She giggled slightly. I could tell she was still very young.

"His name eez James, and 'e say that if you want to go out to dinner, 'e will be down in ze hall," she said carefully.

"Well, all right. Thank you," I replied. She smiled and pounced off almost childishly, disappearing down the stairwell. Shaking my head with a slight smile to myself, I changed out of my dancing shoes and bounded gracefully down the hall. It looked rather empty to me before my eye caught sight of a rather striking gentleman, waiting patiently in a lean against the wall, his arms crossed. He looked up as I strode down the corridor, eyes appearing to light up.

I paused. "Mademoiselle Lavonne," he greeted, bowing slightly. He was of tall stature with a well-kept mass of blonde hair, and strikingly blue eyes.

"…Monsieur James?" I inquired, raising a brow uncertainly. Why hadn't I recognized him at rehearsals? I would think that I would have… He smiled.

"Just James," he stated. I nodded slowly, looking at him suspiciously. For some reason, no matter how strikingly beautiful he was… I just wasn't attracted. And somehow, I thought that Monsieur Opera Ghost would not appreciate my going out to dinner with Mister Fancy Pants. Not that I wanted to…

"I regret to tell you that I cannot accept your dinner invitation… you see… my instructor… he is very strict with regards to my lessons, and I cannot stay out late anywhere," I said carefully. His countenance seemed to drop.

"I'd have you back early. At least by nine or ten 'o' clock," he tried again. Definitely British. I shook my head.

"Alas, I cannot," I stated, "But it was nice of you to offer and I didn't want to just leave you down here without an absolute answer." He looked offended.

"Oh…I…I see," he answered, straightening up and meeting my eyes. I caught my breath for a moment at the look he gave me. It was very… odd. "I thought your little…erm… display at rehearsals this morning was quite admirable." I raised a brow and had to laugh at his expression.

"Most men would classify me as an unkempt monstrous fiend," I replied. He burst out laughing at my comment as if I'd somehow broken the tension. I resumed a serious expression as his laughter died away.

"Where are you from, Mademoiselle?" He asked.

"Provence," I answered, nodding sagely.

"Hm, that region hasn't often been known to produce monstrous fiends, has it?" He teased, eyes flickering with self-amusement. I could tell that Monsieur James, if not completely selfish and ignorant, was at least a little too overconfident and pompous. I raised my head and cleared my throat.

"Well, you never know." I stated blandly. He didn't seem to be getting the impression that I really didn't want anything to do with him…

"Well I'm sorry you can't make it to dinner," he said, as if he were closing something, "But perhaps breakfast or lunch?" I felt the urge to smack him upside the head.

"I… don't like food." I responded. He laughed at that.

"You're French. Since when do the French not like food?" He asked, a puzzled but amused expression coming to his face. I was getting annoyed, and bored.

"I'm not a typical French woman," I replied.

"Ah. True." He breathed a sigh, still looking at me.

"Well, it was nice meeting you, at any rate, and perhaps I'll see you around." I shook his hand firmly and turned around, walking away almost abruptly.

"Er, good night! Mademoiselle…" I moved up the stairs, an aggravated emotion seriously threatening my good mood. I pushed it off. Mister British Perfect-Hair could go eat his own candle-lit dinners. He was, decidedly, the last thing I needed.

Sighing in a bit of a distraught manner, I returned to my room and contemplated which dance outfit I should wear tonight. Recently I'd been wearing only grays and browns, so I decided I might as well wear some color lest my instructor think I were afraid to address the vibrant side of things. The selected attire was a dark turquoise accented with black. The only problem was that there was no place for my rapier, and I still didn't trust this man…

My dagger, however, seemed to fit into the bodice perfectly, so hopefully that would suffice. I still had a good two hours or so until I needed to be there. After some contemplating, I shrugged and grabbed my dance shoes, heading down to the small practice room. This would at least occupy me for an hour or so…

The room was fairly empty, except for the piano player and a few chorus girls that appeared to be playing around in the corner with a new routine. Smiling vaguely to myself, I laced up my ballet shoes with the full intention of winding down. I stretched my limbs out a bit, before running over the choreography I'd learned for the show. By the time I'd run over that, the girls had trickled out and I had the room to myself (except for the piano player).

"Mademoiselle?" The piano player caught my attention, raising a brow. I looked over from my stance.

"Oh, euhm… Chopin," I stated, "Anything by Chopin." He flashed me an irritated glance before starting in on some flowing melody. The title of it ceased to exist in my mind as I worked freely on my balance and posture. After an hour of flowing pieces, twirls, leaps, and pirouettes, I finally decided I'd had enough. I had another hour to do as I wished and found myself wandering about the halls of the Opera House.

I suddenly felt as if I was being followed. Looking around, I didn't see anyone so I assumed I was simply paranoid. However, as I crossed the front foyer of the Opera House onto the stairs, I heard footsteps behind me. I raised a brow and paused on the staircase. The footsteps ceased. Moving a few more steps, I hard my pursuer follow more but halt abruptly as I stopped again. I turned my head and peered down into the darkness. "Oh, very funny," I stated evenly. There was no answer. I shook my head. "Very well. May the best man win." I bolted up the stairs rapid-fire, skipping steps as I did so and leaping atop the platform as I raced down the hallway. I tried to contain my laughter but skidded to a step as I nearly ran over Madame Giry.

"You are not to be running about like a three-year-old!" She scolded. I adjusted my stance and frowned, suddenly turning serious.

"Yes Madame," I replied. Sighing disgustedly, she shook her head and muttered something, walking off past me. Setting my jaw in aggravation, I lifted my head slightly and called back.

"Very funny, Sir _James_," I called. There was a brief silence before my pursuer revealed himself.

"How did you know it was me?" He asked, an unbelieving tone seeping into his voice as he rounded the corner.

"Well I'm not sure. It could have been the intoxicating sense of your inanity, or the distinctly British shuffle of your feet. Either way, I'm certainly no psychic," I answered sardonically, whirling around to meet his gaze.

"I resent that," he almost sniffled, raising his head. He paused. "What's inanity?" I snorted.

"Go to bed, James," Madame Giry called from down the hall.

"Yes. Go to bed, James," I repeated, turning on my heel and heading off to the theater. I was growing tired of aggravations. Swinging my ballet shoes from a restless hand, I pushed my way into the theater, noticing immediately that there was a grand array of candles lit on the stage. I raised a brow and shook my head, sitting on the edge of the stage and lacing my shoes.

"I see you've listened to me for once," He commented almost dryly from one of the darkened back rows. I squinted but couldn't see him. Shrugging, I continued lacing.

"It likely has more to do with the fact that I was bored or uncontrollably annoyed with theater personnel," I answered haughtily.

"I was under the impression that you automatically expressed these aggravations on the spot, after your little display with Carlotta this morning," he replied. I laughed a bit.

"Actually that was a result of built-up aggravation. I'm not terribly fond of selfish prunes," I said.

"As amusing as it was, I would advise you to keep such instances in check." He was somewhat scolding me. I finished lacing and looked up, quirking a brow at my teacher.

"Oh you can be certain that I will, Monsieur," I stated, "I have no desire to wage wars with unworthy opponents." With that, I rose up onto the stage and stretched once more, reaching and spinning lithely.

"Your dancing in the farewell number this morning was absolutely horrific. There is clearly no connection between you and Monsieur Delacrois," Erik commented.

"Scusez-moi, Monsieur," I shot back, shifting from my stance to put my hands on my hips. I glared at him through the darkness. "There is not much I can do when Monsieur Delacrois is still trying to avoid stepping on my feet! His voice is beautiful, but he lacks dance skills!"

"Then he was incorrectly cast," Erik stated calmly.

"If you have honest problems with that, bring it up with the manager," I breathed, waving my hand around at him. Taking another deep breath, I stretched my legs and leapt across the stage.

"I'll just have to work with you," he answered. He moved down the aisle and onto the stage, watching me for a moment from the side. I stopped and looked at him nervously.

"What?" I shot.

"I can already see that you are far too tense," he said. I groaned and turned my back to him, walking away.

"I'm always tense!"

"Well then, you must learn to relax," he hissed. He seemed angry with me. I sighed deeply and closed my eyes, opening them again and turning to face him from across the stage. "Pretend that I am Monsieur Delacrois and we are performing the farewell number," he said. I raised a brow and then laughed.

"You? Dance?" I stifled my laughter when he did not mirror my reaction. There was a long, awkward pause. He removed his cape and twirled it aside gracefully, moving into the light.

"Come," he beckoned me across the stage and I moved hesitantly within his reach. He took my hand, his other hand slipping around my waist and drawing me closer to him. I gasped slightly, tensing in his dancer's embrace. "You would be very surprised…" He whispered.

"I am…" I said, staring at him with wide eyes. He smirked before frowning in annoyance.

"Now release your tension," he commanded softly.

"Release…my…." The rest of the words vanished as he gripped my waist, forcing all of my limbs to go slack. I gasped, practically hanging in his arms.

"Now…where were we?" He asked rhetorically, smirking at my lack of response. He stepped into the choreography that I'd just learned earlier with ease, as if he'd practiced it for years. His movements were perfect and graceful as he led me across the stage, circling, winding, spinning, leaping… I was too astounded to comment but my body felt free and light as he whirled me through the air. There was absolutely nothing to weigh me down in this tender universe he had created with such poise and ease. After the dance, I was left breathless, hooked over his arms like a rag-doll.

I looked up at him with a fear flaring in my eyes. It was the first time I think, that I'd truly been completely afraid of anything. "Now that," he whispered, "Was magnificent." My breath was ragged.

"Thank you…" I managed softly, staring at his eyes, my brain sifting out the words I could say to him. "You were…" Before I could finish, he lifted me swiftly from the stance, jolting me back to reality. His eyes suddenly whirled about the shadows.

"Someone's in here," he hissed in a low voice, moving off into the shadows. I caught my breath and looked after him with wide eyes before I looked around.

"Mademoiselle?" The voice was easily recognizable, and I wanted to mortally wound the owner. I nearly slapped myself and turned around to face James.

"What do you want?" I asked in an irritated tone. He paused, looking around.

"Was there just you…? Dancing?" He inquired, still looking around suspiciously.

"Yes, there was only me, James!" I shot, "Now go back to bed so I can finish!"

"You come in here and dance alone?" He continued his questions. I was about to pull my dagger on him.

"If you have a problem with that, talk to me tomorrow. Now is not a good time," I said evenly. I grabbed him by the shoulders and turned him around, pushing him in the direction of the door, "Go, good-bye, and good-night!" Once he was gone, I breathed a sigh and shoved a chunk of hair out of my eye.

"Who was that?" Erik asked almost darkly.

"Inanity itself," I answered, shaking my head as he moved out of the shadows once again. "He's possibly more vexing than you," I added, bending to remove my shoes. I suddenly felt his grip upon my wrist, lifting me up. I lifted my eyes to meet his. He did not look happy. I wrenched my wrist away, shooting him an angry glare.

"What is your problem?" I snapped.

"After all I have done for you, you would still treat me as a criminal?" He demanded. I rolled my eyes, sitting to remove my shoes now.

"Erik. You _are_ a criminal," I replied.

"What?" The tone of that one word from his lips made me regret my mere existence in the world. I bit my lip and didn't reply. "What did you just say?" He pressed. I shook my head and finished removing my shoes, rising and bowing my head to him in silence.

"Thank you for tonight, Erik," I stated respectfully. His eyes regarded me with an even glare. I turned away and started walking.

"Is that what you think I am, Miss Lavonne? A criminal?" He finally called after me. I stopped in my tracks and sighed, silently cursing my big mouth.

"So I've read…" I explained lamely. His anger bloomed before me like a raging torrent of fire.

"Do they know?" He shot, "Do they see? Do they understand? I live and I work by the veil of darkness! I dare not venture into the light, for people fear my hideousness! This face!" He growled.

"Erik…"

"Are you then, like those who dwell in this _wonderful_ world of light? Seeking to make a mockery of the things you do not know, but the things that you fear beyond anything you'd ever truly know? Laughing in the face of an outcast who has spent years trying to find an identity and some reason to truly dwell upon this earth?" His voice cracked with passion and my heart broke. He turned his back to me and lifted a gloved hand to his forehead. His breathing was rigid. I carefully set my dancing shoes down and approached, touching his shoulder to let him know I was there.

I rounded his form, slightly intimidated as I was terribly short comparatively (or so I thought), and lifted his chin, looking into his eyes. There were tears in his eyes. It's the first time I'd ever seen a man broken like this. Every rage and sorrow existed in those eyes, and I felt an overwhelming sense of compassion. I looked down, closing his hand around mine. Lifting my eyes again, I smiled at him.

"Erik…" I searched his eyes imploringly. "Sometimes, to _truly_ live, we must live in a cage to understand what it _is_ to live." He blinked back the tears that threatened his eyes and nodded rigidly, pulling from me once more.

"Go sleep, Faye… you did well tonight." He vanished back into the shadows and I stared after him for several moments, feeling a mixture of emotions that I could not identify. Finally, I gathered my shoes and moved off the stage, returning to my room.

**A/N:**_ R and R. ee_


	5. Done In

**Chapter Five: Done In**

_What lay behind the mask?_ I woke to a cold and bleak dawn, just laying there and pondering the question. I think I'd accepted the fact that he wanted to remain hidden because maybe I didn't really want to know. But now, for some reason, I _did_ want to know. I shook my head to myself. It was really best that I didn't ask. My big mouth had already landed me with all sorts of trouble.

Footsteps downstairs let me know that the girls were rounding up for rehearsals. I'd have to get up soon. Glancing over at the window now, I expected to see a note. But there was nothing there—just an empty space. For some reason, the fact that that space was empty hurt me more than anything. I walked over to the window and ran fingers along the dust-free table, venturing a gaze to the window. It was snowing. I vaguely wondered if there were any churches around here (besides the chapel downstairs of course). It had probably been months since I last went to confession… what did I have to confess though?

Pulling from the wintry visage, I changed into one of my dancing outfits and hooked my shoes over my hand, moving out into the hall and descending the staircase. I was tired for some reason and the soft recall of dancing with Erik played in the back of my mind. Were there other things I didn't know about him? I was fairly convinced that he was the opera ghost, but I wondered if he had actually committed the murders that were recorded in the theater's log. He seemed dangerous… but not in the sense that he would kill. Then again, perhaps I was mistaken. Perhaps I was allowing myself to feel something for him, when in fact I should have ignored any form of emotional contact.

As soon as I saw James waiting for me in the hall, I thought immediately that the day just couldn't get any worse. "Good morning, Mademoiselle," he greeted. Flashing him a death-glare, I muttered a similar greeting and started for the theater. Rehearsals weren't starting for another half-hour at least, but if I could surround myself with people of remote intelligence, perhaps there was hope of increasing the light of my mood. "Did you sleep well?" He pressed. This man clearly was not going to take a hint.

"Yes. I slept fine. Now do yourself a favor and go have a cup of coffee," I responded. He started to say something else but I cut him off, "By yourself." He looked disappointed before moving off. I rolled my eyes and went into the theater where a few girls were already assembling. "Where's Carlotta?" I asked them.

"Not here yet," one of the girls replied, "Why? Are you looking for her?"

"No, I just like to know where my prey is so I can keep an eye on it," I answered stubbornly, eyeing the theater. The girls giggled. Smirking slightly, I looked around the stage as if it were interesting. My eyes followed the lines of the dust-lined planks until there was a horizontal disruption. I approached, focusing in on what appeared to be a large square, though I admit, it was very well hidden. I assumed it must have been a trapdoor for stage productions so I said nothing, shrugging it off.

"Ah, you are here on time, little serpent!" Came an annoying voice from the back of the theater. Rolling my eyes, I turned around to see Carlotta approaching, looking exceptionally spruced and fluffed. Her 'servants' walked just behind her, carrying her equally fluffed dog.

"Good morning Carlotta," I called with mock-cheer. "You ignorant poodle…" I muttered under my breath. Luckily, no one heard. I turned back around and looked at the trapdoor again. God, if I knew how to work that, I would have all too much fun with Miss Ignoramus… (Behind me, she was making a fuss over her 'doggy' and rolling 'r''s all-too extravagantly).

The orchestra was filing in with exhausted looks by now, Monsieur Reyer setting up his music stand and practicing a few little baton waves. It was rather amusing. Soon, everyone else was present (so I thought) and the director tapped his clipboard impatiently.

"All right good people. Is everything quite ready for the Act One run-through?" He asked.

"Non, monsieur!" Called a chorus girl from the back, "Monsieur Delacrois is not here!"

"Ah, he was not feeling too well last night…" The director commented. I frowned and said nothing. Something didn't feel right… "Oh well… James! James shall fill in for him today." _Oh great_, I thought. Clearly I was wrong in thinking that today couldn't get any worse. "Do you know the choreography all right, boy?"

"Of course," James answered in his haughty voice. Someone needed to throw something at him… I was just glad that the farewell sequence was in act three, so contact would be at a minimum.

Halfway through Act one, Madame Giry came running in, looking incredibly un-nerved. She went over to Monsieur Reyer and whispered something. His face also turned to fear. The director went over and spoke with them as well. I watched from the side of the stage, as it wasn't my turn to do anything. Suddenly, the music ceased and the director hopped up on stage, looking around at us all.

"Rehearsals are cancelled. Please return to your dormitories and do not come out until instructed otherwise," he announced. A murmur went through those on stage before they all exchanged glances and filed off the stage. I didn't follow and walked straight over to Madame Giry.

"What happened?" I asked.

"It's none of your business, Mademoiselle," she said evenly, glaring at me.

"If it's important enough to cancel rehearsals, then trust me, it _is_ my business," I answered haughtily, eyeing her.

"There's been a murder," stated the director, "Go to your room, Miss Lavonne. It's for your safety." My eyebrows went up.

"Monsieur Delacrois?" I asked. They exchanged glances, before Madame Giry took my arm and led me off to the dormitory. Once we were out of earshot of the directors, I stopped her and looked at her face. There was a suspicion growing in my mind. It hurt terribly to think that it might be true, but I had to know. "Where is he?" I asked.

"Monsieur Delacrois?" She inquired. I shook my head and gave her a dark glance. Her eyes widened.

"No, Mademoiselle. I cannot tell you where he dwells," she stated, "Go to your room. I will say no more." She shuffled off and I watched listlessly. Shaking my head, I moved away from the dormitories, ducking behind a corner as James went flying by.

"Mademoiselles!" He called to the chorus girls, "I found out what it is! Monsieur Delacrois has been killed!" The amount of horror that took his voice had me interested momentarily and I listened. "Strangled to death they say!" The girls whispered in terrified voices before they all retreated under the call of Madame Giry. Shaking my head, I swiftly headed back to the theater, circling around through the back and ducking down behind the last row of seats.

The orchestra had cleared out by now, and the directors were finishing the last extinguishing of the lights. They exited the theater, leaving it in complete darkness, except for one candle that served as some kind of emergency light. I breathed and approached the stage, picking up the candle and looking around cautiously. Everything seemed to creak warningly under my feet but I pressed on.

I looked around the trapdoor suspiciously but decided it wouldn't take me where I wanted to go. I found myself climbing the ladder (with one hand), the candle balanced precariously in my hand as I moved around on the catwalk deftly. As I was a dancer, it wasn't terribly hard. My eyes fell almost immediately upon a door in the wall. Assuming that it couldn't possibly lead anywhere important, I opened it and stepped inside. There was a single corridor that branched off into more and after wandering it for a few minutes, I found that I was relatively lost.

All of the doors opened into more passages—except for one. This one was locked though. Growling in frustration at the impediment, I whisked out my dagger and fiddled with the lock. It was a little more complicated than the one placed on the theater archives, but it eventually gave way. Hot wax dripped onto my hand and I grimaced under the pain before shrugging it off as if it were unimportant.

The dim light of the candle revealed a twisted staircase that descended further and further into darkness. Taking a breath, I closed the door behind me and started down the stairs. They never seemed to end. I must have been several levels below the opera house before I reached a narrow corridor that led to a wider set of stairs. I kept looking about suspiciously. I did not feel alone. But I knew that I was.

I stepped into water. Raising my brows, I held up the candle. It revealed a long passage of knee-deep water that veered off to both the left and right. I took another breath and moved onward, sloshing through the water and glancing in both directions at the end. The shallower path was to my left… Shrugging philosophically, I started in that direction until I felt the floor beneath me shift. I hesitated, as there was a distinct creaking that ran through the walls. Then there was a rushing sound. Raising my candle cautiously, I was made aware of an enormous wall of water rushing at me. Before I could run, I was forced down into the raging torrents and I went barreling towards the right passageway, popping up occasionally to peer into darkness, gasping for breath. I thought my journey would never end, and I would end up drowning.

Then, all of a sudden, the wave that contained me went running through a dry passage and I was dumped into an underground lake. Rising from the flurry of water, I gasped for air and looked up. This place was lit. I swam towards an evident shore and pulled myself atop the stone, catching my breath. When I looked up, I saw an array of candles, an ancient-looking organ, and several entrances that were guarded by thick, velvet drapes. No one appeared to be home. Was I dreaming?

The fact that such furnishings existed in a cave was beyond me, and it looked surreal. Nearby was a rather interesting-looking boat. Rising from my flat position, I glanced around the place. Was this where Erik lived? If so, I felt completely uncomfortable. Such an arrangement gave him every advantage in the world over me. I ventured over to the organ, regardless, and looked upon a very complex-looking piece of music. It was all carefully hand-written, the accompanying words printed neatly below it. Shifting my gaze, I saw a large stack of parchment, several bottles of ink (some empty, some full, some half-full…), two quills, a metal gourd of wax resting over a flame, and a handled stamp. Picking up the stamp, I saw the same skull that had appeared on all of my notes. Yes, this was where Erik lived… or at least worked. I shuddered with the chill of the air and carefully replaced the stamp.

Walking across the place, I peered behind various drapes and found that they either led to more rooms of similar décor, or passages. Then suddenly I heard footsteps. I panicked and quickly ducked into one of the passageways, allowing myself only a crack to keep an eye on whoever was approaching. It was, as I suspected, Erik. A rope was coiled about his left shoulder and he paused, looking around. Dropping the coil near his organ, he shed his cape and jacket. His gaze shot back up and looked directly at me. I didn't move. He took his rapier from a nearby stand and slowly began to approach where I had hidden.

I had two options. Allow myself to be discovered, or run. I chose the latter rather quickly, and took off silently along the passageway. I barely saw where I was going, but suddenly I came to a glass panel that looked in on what appeared to be a dressing room. Gripping the handle breathlessly, I opened it and threw myself into the dressing room, closing the 'door' behind me. Panting raggedly, I looked around the room and back at the path I'd just come from. It was a mirror. Oh God, this man was sick!

I left that dressing room in a flourish, heading straight up to my room. At the foot of the spiral staircase sat James and I almost groaned at the mere sight of him. He was _everywhere_. He raised a brow and rose. "Why are you all wet?" He asked. I snapped.

Gripping him by the collar, I threw him against the wall, gritting my teeth as I met the surprise in his eyes. "There's a murderer on the loose, and you ask me why I'm wet? Don't you even care what happened? Perhaps I just escaped a life or death situation, and you have the _nerve_ to ask me why I'm _wet_?"

"All right!" He started defensively, pushing at my arms. My arms didn't budge but I dropped him and glowered. "What happened?" He asked. I raised my brows at his rather terrified expression.

"I fell into a river. And it was raining." I stated dryly, before jerking past him and moving into my room grumpily. "Pompous imbecile," I muttered under my breath, slamming the door and lighting a candle. Still no note. Why did I want a note so badly? This just kept confirming my suspicions over and over, and I really didn't want to believe what I was thinking. In fact, I currently wanted to convince myself that everything that had happened so far was some wild dream of mine that just never ended, and someday, I would wake up. Just before I died, that is.

I changed out of my soaked clothes into a pale green dancing gown. Taking out my rapier, I slipped its sheath through my rapier frog and found a belt to put it on. I was taking no chances tonight. Looking over at my small grandfather clock, I determined that I had a half-hour before 'lessons.' Growling to myself, I decided that I would go wait for my teacher. I loaded up a bag with some spare candles, taking one into my hand, and tossing my dagger into the bag as well (for good luck). Shouldering my bag, I hooked my dance shoes over my wrist, holding the candle with the same hand as I moved resolutely down the stairs once again.

James raised a brow at me at the foot of my stairs. "Are we in a war?" He asked sardonically.

"Can't be too careful," I replied dryly, moving past him.

"Pardon me, Mademoiselle, but with a killer on the loose, don't you think it would be safer to use the practice room?" He inquired, stepping into my path.

"Get out of my way, or you will sorely regret you ever tried to enter my life." I stated carefully, my eyes flashing at him. He paused before moving aside. Rolling my eyes and shaking my head, I passed him swiftly and headed off to the theater. Perhaps I was being a little touchy with Mister James… but then again, he kept up his nosiness and aggravated me to no ends, so perhaps he deserved his treatment. Regardless, I was really beyond caring at this point.

I entered the theater, whistling in a chipper fashion as I set about lighting candles on the stage, until it was fairly well lit. Putting my bag down nearby, I sat, dropping my shoes and sprawling out. Sighing, I closed my eyes and listened for opening doors and footsteps. Thoughts raced through my head about Monsieur Erik. I needed to know more about the man and the monster. He felt. He couldn't be _that_ much of a cold-blooded killer… could he? Or, judging by his dance abilities, perhaps he was merely an excellent actor. No, that couldn't be so… I'd seen the pain in his eyes. I'd felt his pain…

"What were you doing in my lair?" Came the booming voice. My eyes opened immediately and I looked up to see Erik standing over me, looking completely furious. My eyes flashed as I brought myself to my feet and looked at him evenly. He was practically trembling with his rage.

"Why did you kill Monsieur Delacrois?" I jetted back. He took a step at me, his eyes flashing. I matched his actions and moved away from him. He set his jaw and looked at me sternly, circling now. "Or perhaps you'd first like to explain why you have a _viewing window_ into a lady's dressing room?" The fire in his eyes increased. I knew I was badly instigating, but I couldn't stop now. "Or why you haven't written me all day? Or why you're _really_ such an outcast?" He snarled and lunged at me, rapier drawn. I drew mine and met his slash, moving him back across the stage.

He paused, circling again. "Since when did you care?" He asked, his glower centering on me. I couldn't bring myself to be intimidated.

"You can't just kill people you don't like!" I insisted, glaring at him.

"I set an example so that my demands are met," he growled, lifting his blade again.

"_Your_ demands? How selfish _are_ you?" I cried incredulously. He lunged again and I found myself engaged in a heated mess of flying limbs and glinting metal. This time, he pushed me back and I took a few steps away to ensure safe distance. Catching my breath, I continued to glare at him.

"Who told you where my home was?" He demanded, advancing on me again. I continued stepping back to regain my breath. He shoved me mercilessly against a backstage wall, gripping me by the throat, an intensely enraged expression practically glued to his face. I gasped as the force of his hand crushed around my neck.

"No one told me!" I choked, "I found it on my own!" Lifting my blade almost weakly, I took a swipe at him and nearly slashed his shoulder. He dropped me abruptly and crossed the blade, angling my wrist to the side. Regaining my bearings, I flashed him an expression. "Your little kitten got curious," I stated blandly, taking my other hand to the hilt and shoving his blade up and over. I leapt into the air and threw a flying kick at his stomach, sending him backwards. He stumbled, caught completely off guard by the move. But he didn't fall over. He cracked his shoulders and flashed me another intense glare. "So are you going to kill me too? 'Make an example' of me?" I shot, advancing on him sturdily.

"It's not a bad idea!" He sneered, moving into offensive and crossing my rapier with a nearly ear-shattering clang. I slid my blade over his, crossing from the upside and forcing it down towards the ground. He resisted and pulled out of the lock, moving to circle me again.

"So what's stopping you?" I growled, "I've been nothing but trouble to you." He didn't answer, his expression boiling at me from across the short distance that separated us now. I caught my breath, my chest heaving. He suddenly advanced swiftly and hooked my hilt, yanking the weapon from my hand. But his own grip slipped and both blades went rolling off towards the back of the stage. He glared at me as if it were my fault, his gloved hands curling into claw-like structures and lunging for my neck. I grabbed his hands but fell back as he came toppling onto me.

I wrestled him off, only to flip atop him and try to pin his wrists to the stage. He doubled back and shoved me to the side, straddling my waist with an annoyed growl. My fingers curled around his desperately, forcing his arms up. He shoved my wrists down, pinning them almost triumphantly at my sides. He hesitated, catching his breath and looking down into my eyes. There was a long pause as I tensed and writhed under his grip, before relaxing. I looked at him smugly.

"What are you looking at, Opera Ghost?" I asked casually, before thrusting my forehead into his chest at just the right angle, knocking the wind out of him. He gasped, his grip faltering as I flipped atop him again and looked down into his surprised eyes with a victorious smirk. I pinned his wrists over his head and caught my breath again. My mouth stretched back into a frown as I looked at him. He shut his eyes for a moment, gasping. He looked like he was thinking. His eyes flickered back open and he unhooked his arms from my grasp, grabbing my forearms and throwing me over his head. I flew through the air and landed flat on my back with a deafening smack. "Ow…" I whimpered, squinting. Erik didn't move. We both lay there on our backs, gasping for air.

"You're a murderer…" I whispered, closing my eyes and going slack. He carefully rose and brushed himself off, lifting his blade again.

"If it's any console, Monsieur Delacrois had a long-running police record. He was going to be found out and executed anyway," replied Erik. I opened my eyes and raised my brows, sitting up and looking back at him. He shrugged and moved off the stage into the shadowed rows. I sighed and stood up, picking up my blade and shaking my head. "It's still early in rehearsals. It shouldn't be too hard to find a replacement," he added.

"Why haven't you killed me?" I asked, no longer concerned with the Delacrois case. There was nothing I could do about it now. There was a long pause.

"Sing to me," He stated.

"What kind of answer is that?" I agonized, glaring through the darkness.

"Sing," he shot, a dangerous edge creeping back into his voice. I glowered before sheathing my weapon and centering myself. Relaxing, I hummed a few notes first, to release the tension that he'd built in me. "I'm waiting," he said impatiently. I blotted out his comment and started in on my song, keeping my eyes closed so that I could concentrate. When I finished, I opened my eyes and he was standing on the stage a few feet away, his back to me and his arms crossed. "That was beautiful," he said. I raised a brow.

"That's the nicest thing you've said to me all night," I responded, looking at him curiously. He whirled around.

"I don't tend to treat those who invade my home _nicely_," he hissed, closing the distance between us slowly.

"You've invaded my room almost every night, and I haven't complained," I replied, placing my hands on my hips, an eyebrow raised.

"That's different," he snapped, touching his nose to mine as though it would scare me. I didn't move, my eyes flashing him a doubtful expression.

"Well in a way, I didn't mean to actually invade your home. You see I was just exploring these passages and suddenly, when I decided to go left instead of right, I was nearly killed by a wall of water," I explained sarcastically. He growled and stood over me, drawing his rapier and placing its tip at the top of my corset.

"How did you survive that?" He asked in a low voice. My eyes drifted to the tip of his blade, which pressed threateningly at my chest. Looking back at his eyes, which burned with an intense fire, I narrowed mine.

"Sheer luck," I stated evenly, whipping out my blade and shoving his weapon away from me. I glared warningly at him. "If you touch me again, you will sorely regret it."

"Oh? Will I?" His eyebrows went up as he approached me fearlessly, his rapier glinting in the candlelight. He crossed my blade firmly and practically bent me over to the floor. I gasped in frustrated surprise, looking at him. "Let's make something perfectly clear, Mademoiselle Lavonne. You listen to me. I do not listen to you—that is of course, unless you are singing or unless I ask you to speak…" Pain was shooting up through my wrist into my shoulder and my knees gave out as I fell to the side. He released the pressure and put his blade at my throat. "Do we have an understanding?" I shook my head stubbornly and he snarled, slicing the surface of my shoulder. I screeched and looked down to see a slow line of blood seeping into the fabric of my dress. I looked back at him fearfully. "_Now_, do we have an understanding?" He pressed, still leaning over me. I finally nodded and he drew away with a satisfied smirk. With a flip of his cape, he headed off stage. "You are dismissed." He vanished.

I quickly gathered my things and scrambled off. I nearly ran over James. "Are you all right?" He asked, eyeing my shoulder and meeting my eyes. He reached out to touch me and I slapped his hand.

"I'm fine," I grimaced, moving past him.

"Faye, did you see him?" He asked, gently taking hold of my waist and turning me to face him.

"See who?" I asked almost blindly.

"The murderer," he said, looking at me imploringly. Breathlessly, I sought his eyes, an almost tender expression on my face. My lips moved to answer, but nothing came. The edges of the room were swirling about in a glamorous vortex of white and black.

"Oh God…" I whispered, closing my eyes against the vision and opening them again to a fading corridor. My limbs went numb and I fell right towards James. The last thing I remembered was being caught sturdily by his arms and shifted as my entire line of vision faded to black.

**A/N:**_ I spent a lot of work on this chapter. With that, I say: _**R. AND. R**. e.e


	6. Something Obscure

**Chapter Six: Something Obscure**

I woke very drowsily to soft candlelight and groaned, rolling over in an unfamiliar bed. Someone sat next to me, but I couldn't see who it was just yet. My vision was still clouded. I groaned again, pressing a numb hand to my forehead and noticing a certain tightness around my shoulder. I could make out a patch of white, so I could only assume my wound had been tended to. Whoever sat with me was silent in an uncanny sort of way. I blinked back the foggy circles that danced around my eyes and finally was able to find some sort of focus. The ceiling was stone.

My heart flipped and I sat straight up, eyes going wide as a hand pushed me gently back down. "Mademoiselle, I ask that you stay put lest you put your health in further danger," came Erik's warning voice. I breathed.

"How did you—"

"Madame Giry was kind enough to get rid of Monsieur James so that I could take you into my care," he answered, rising from his seat. The bed I was in was of some kind of swan shape, the blankets and pillows fluffed but still containing the rather musty smell of his lair. It wasn't unwelcome to me for some reason and I looked around at the various candelabras nearby, noticing a fairy cradle situated above the bed.

"How long have I been out?" I asked.

"A good few hours," he stated, pouring some water into a goblet. He handed me the goblet gingerly before stepping away again, his back to me now. He'd shed his cape, jacket, vest, and jabot, revealing a slightly worn white shift with a modest ruffle. He was looking off thoughtfully across the place, silent and unmoving now. I sipped the water, still looking at him. "I'd recommend not passing out again," he finally said. I nearly choked on the water.

"I beg your pardon, Monsieur, but it's your fault that I fainted!" I answered unbelievingly.

"You had it coming to you," he shot back defensively, turning his face slightly and sending a glare in my direction. I glared back. "You always have to fight! Why can't you just leave well enough alone?" He scolded, turning fully now and regarding me sternly. I rolled my eyes.

"If I just stand around like a senseless bimbo, how am I to accomplish anything?" I inquired, looking at him steadily as I set the empty goblet aside. "It's not like I asked you to be my instructor."

"It was my duty, so I offered!" He hissed, "And I am beginning to regret it!"

"Ha! Told you you'd regret it," I intervened triumphantly.

"If I remember correctly, you said I would regret it if I ever _touched_ you again," he corrected.

"Oh my goodness, it's a miracle! He actually listens!" I cheered sarcastically. His eyes flared again but he kept his distance and clenched his fists. "I never thought I'd see the day!"

"You won't see any day if you keep up this rude behavior," he retorted. I glared.

"Do you regret _anything_ you've done to me?" I seethed, keeping my glare steady. He took a breath and regarded me for a moment, reflection flickering on his face almost calmly.

"No," he said quietly. He relaxed his fists and continued staring at me in thought. It was an uncomfortable gaze and I twisted a bit. A smirk alighted on his face as he began to approach me. "But there are some things I regret _not_ doing to you…" He started. Un-nerved, I backed away to the far edge of the bed; my legs untangling from the covers as my hand gripped the edge of the bed frame.

"Are you going to kill me?" I asked, my eyes widening as he halted at the edge of the bed. He shook his head slowly and placed a knee upon the edge, crawling across towards me. "What are you—" I toppled off the edge of the bed in a mess of blankets and struggled to free myself, gasping as I scrambled to my feet. He laughed. It's the first time I'd seen him laugh. I stared at him in a frightened awe for a moment before his gaze turned to fire resting on me once again. My hand went for my rapier, but it wasn't there. I panicked and looked around.

"How does it feel to be helpless, Miss Lavonne?" He asked with a slight chuckle. It was almost charming in a way… except that it had a murderous edge to it. Looking around desperately, I finally spotted my salvation but I would have to pass him in order to obtain it. My gaze flickered between him and the glorious hilt of my rapier, which seemed to be leagues away…

"Helpless?" I inquired, raising a brow and trying not to show him that I felt threatened. "Why, one is not helpless until they're dead," I replied modestly. He smiled maliciously. I met his gaze indifferently. There was a wall behind me. I had no-where to go. He knew this and closed in on me until I was planted firmly against that wall. I shivered as he pressed against me imposingly, darkness dominating his deep eyes.

"If you just learned to obey, we'd have no problems," he stated evenly, leaning a casual arm on the wall above me.

"Obey? You mean, become a slave to you?" I asked, unmoving as the tip of his nose barely touched mine.

"In a manner," he breathed almost sensually. I raised a brow.

"All right. I'll be your slave," I nearly deadpanned with the statement as I regarded him seriously.

"Lies," he hissed, his eyes raging at me in frustration. I smiled genuinely. He growled.

"You know… I'm _really_ in no mood to spar with you right now…" I began, regarding him evenly. He raised a brow and I gulped at the sight of it. Strange. "And as fun as it's been…" I gave an abrupt but sturdy shove, tackling him harshly to the ground. "…I have things to do."

I leapt up and sprinted over to where my victory awaited, when suddenly I heard a familiar whipping sound behind me. My ankles locked together as the slender rope caught them and threw me down with a slam, to the stone floor. I grimaced and flexed, my hand reaching for my rapier but falling just out of range.

"I didn't dismiss you, Miss Lavonne," he admonished, gathering the slack and pausing to stand over me. "Apparently, I proved nothing to you last night…"

"Other than the fact that you're a selfish killer with no respect, no," I gritted through my teeth as I strove to reach my rapier.

"What must I do to get through to you…" he sighed almost dramatically, slamming his foot down on my ankles. I cried out as pain shot up my legs. "How about putting you out of service for a month? You'd be deprived of the wonderful position I've secured for you in this production!" He yelled, removing his foot and twisting the rope to flip me over so that I was looking at him. I gasped, wincing still at the pain. "Ungrateful!" He sneered accusingly, "Why do I keep doing things for you?"

"That's… your decision," I gasped, laying limp for a minute and closing my eyes against the soft, changing light of the cavern.

"Why do you think it is?" He demanded. I could feel his eyes bearing into me like hot coals but I didn't open mine. Maybe if I kept them closed, I would somehow develop more willpower to resist… "Why?" He demanded more firmly, tugging almost despondently on the rope.

"Because without me, how could your life possibly be interesting?" I snapped, opening my eyes finally to glare at him. I clearly wasn't going anywhere, so I might as well bite back while I could. "Admit it; you _enjoy_ fighting with me," I agonized, my glare firing up again. He fumed but didn't release me.

"That is not so. I find you to be beyond controllable and exceedingly vexing," he replied haughtily. I laughed at him.

"What else is new?" I asked, "You're going to let me out of your little lasso and then you're going to fight me some more, because you like to fight. You enjoy the interaction. You enjoy the _contact._"

"If I enjoyed the contact, I would have taken you by now!" He snapped. I froze at that statement, looking at him through wide eyes. "You're a pretty girl, but looks are very deceiving," he said coldly, "I wouldn't give yourself too much credit, Miss Lavonne." His voice trickled off in a whispered sneer, the edges of his lips turned up in a victorious smile of sorts.

"I hate you," I stated evenly, not taking my eyes from him.

"I hate _you_," he responded. He unhooked his lasso from my feet and kicked at my calves, turning away in a distraught manner. I rose shakily, dusting myself off. He was walking away, leaving me to my own devices.

"I hate you more," I called after him, crossing my arms. He stopped and dropped his lasso in a coil, veering back towards me with an evil glint in his eye. I stood still as he came near, staring at me.

"Well then, Miss Lavonne, I loathe you beyond the utter ends of the darkest forms of hate. I loathe you so much that the Heavens weep for the darkness that my hate creates and Hell rejoices in the swirling abyss that circles my heart with the mere _sight_ of you," he breathed angrily, his brows drawn together under his half-mask. I didn't move, but I shuddered with the conviction in his voice. He raised his chin slightly and set his jaw then, as if rethinking his words.

"Very well…" I breathed raggedly and nodded, turning and reaching for my rapier as I silently declared my intention to leave. Suddenly he leaned and closed his hand around mine. I stopped, my eyes cast downward as I breathed softly and shivered in the chill of his lair. He gently pulled to turn me around, fixating his eyes upon mine. I trembled as he closed the distance, his other hand settling upon my waist. He bent his head over slightly. I could feel his breath on my lips and my eyes fluttered shut in the momentary bliss of it, before my mind sharply reprimanded me. I jerked away from his inviting embrace and grabbed my rapier, storming off. To my surprise, he didn't follow.

I emerged in the dressing room and promptly made my way in the direction of the dormitories. At the foot of my stairs lounged a sleeping James. Thank God. I ascended the stairs silently, returning to my room and setting my rapier underneath my bed. It was very early in the morning (about three or four), so I changed into my nightclothes. Somehow I doubted there would be rehearsals in the morning.

After a good night's sleep, I woke to another snowy morning. And there was a note patiently awaiting my attention at the window. As much as I would have liked to have another note, its arrival after recent events was a bit questionable and almost unwelcome. I hesitated. But my fingers eventually closed around the edge, breaking the seal open almost gingerly.

'Dear Faye,

I apologize from the bottom of my heart if I have injured you beyond a quick repair—it was not my intention. And I did not mean that remark which I made with regards to utterly loathing you. That is not how I feel in the least.

On the contrary, I think you are a most admirable lady… temperamental at times, even downright inane and aggravating…but admirable, coupled with a unique spark. You are unlike any other, and for that reason alone do I believe you will be successful.

I do not regret the offering of my services, and I hold no true intention or desire to make you my slave.

Faithfully,

Erik.'

I stared at the piece of paper and smiled a little, refolding it and moving to my desk. He had a heart after all…apparently he just didn't know how to properly express himself. Taking out a piece of parchment, I removed my quill and contemplated for a moment.

'Dear Erik,

Your letter was well received and the injury you have dealt is fast healing already. Like you said…I deserved it.

I don't hate you. You are intriguingly different—scary at times, but who's to say anything ever really scared me?

I do not regret coming to the Paris Opera, nor do I regret accepting your aid…

Faye

P.S. Not that you could ever enslave me anyway.'

I let a few drops of wax fall onto the crease to seal my letter, before placing it carefully by the window. I felt better. He was still a murdering fiend, but at least he was an endearing murdering fiend…that made no sense. Smiling to myself and shaking my head, I descended the staircase after donning my robe. James no longer sat at the foot, for which I was very grateful. Some things were set out in one of the dressing rooms for breakfast, so I helped myself. Only a few chorus girls were present, so I made my way to the sitting room that was at the foot of the staircase, crossing paths with Madame Giry.

"You're back," she commented, eyebrows raised in surprise. I eyed her.

"Yes. Happy Holidays to me," I stated sarcastically, still eyeing her as I took a seat. She didn't seem to catch the hint.

"Are you feeling better?" She asked, "You were in poor condition…"

"Mhm," I answered vaguely, "I'm certain that placing me in the care of my attacker was the absolute _best_ option." My tone was heavily sadistic.

"Well, I'm glad you feel better." She patted my uninjured shoulder and bustled off. I watched her wearily. Apparently, my sardonic snapping held no long-term effect on her. I'd have to figure out her buttons later…

"Faye!" _Oh bloody Hell._ I raised my eyes to the sight of Mister Blondie British Boy flouncing towards me, an expression of mock concern plastered on his face.

"Good morning, James," I called sweetly, gritting my teeth all the while. He sat across from me almost breathlessly, his bright blue inquisitive eyes very much betraying his manhood.

"Did you see the murderer?" He asked.

"Did you see me pass out?" I shot immediately; "Did you ask me if I was okay?"

"I caught you," he answered, smiling.

"Oh, good job. Would you like a medal for your elite bravery?" I scolded, picking up my breakfast and starting for the stairs.

"Are you upset about something?" He asked, standing and placing a hand on my arm. I glared at him like I had glared at no other and he recoiled instantly.

"Yes. You see… there's this man, and he won't leave me alone or stop asking me questions," I explained dryly.

"Who is he? I shall see that this problem is acknowledged immediately!" He stated boldly.

"Then acknowledge _yourself_," I deadpanned. At that, I turned and flounced up the stairs, delighting in the astonished silence of Mister British Fancy Feet. I took my breakfast in my room, before changing and returning myself to the downstairs corridor. Madame Giry was there again.

"Get your dance shoes and come to the theater," she said informatively, before moving off. Grumbling irritably, I did as asked and arrived in the theater. Some of the orchestra was present, as well as the directors, Mme. Giry, and James. I paused on the right side of the stage and looked at them.

"James has been re-cast in place of Monsieur Delacrois. The show must go on," Madame Giry informed. My eyes widened. Oh, no way was I dancing with him! "Mademoiselle…the farewell sequence," Mme. Giry stated firmly. James came over and took my hand, leading me onto the stage. He did not look at me. It seemed that my message had finally gotten through to him. "Monsieur Reyer!" Madame Giry moved off the stage as the small portion of the orchestra started the introduction.

James moved his hand to my waist, the other clasping mine as he brought me around to the starting position. I was tense as it began, but eventually I fell into the dance with ease, finding that the fact that he could actually lead helped my dancing ability. The whole time, his eyes remained frigidly focused on a single point on the opposite side of the stage. His steady movements certainly did not lack grace or ability, and I was completely surprised that such an arrogantly demeaned man could possibly convey such movement-based passion. I was stunned, really. Finally he whisked my twirling form across the stage, bending me lithely over his arms, and I saw his eyes.

The childish glint had faded, and was instead replaced by a roaring passion that was very much like Erik's, and for a moment, they were one and the same. He carefully lifted me again, as I realized the silence that had set in. Madame Giry looked astonished. She brought herself back and clapped her hands, breaking the terrified trance that had settled over me so evenly.

"Dismissed," she said. I pulled from James, glancing back at him furtively. He did not take his eyes from me now, and a knowing smirk appeared on his face. I'd caught my breath by now, as well as my senses. I refused to fall for such a self-serving imbecile, no matter how good he could dance, or how much he had changed in the past… hour.

Horrified by the very thoughts that dared to grace my mind, I exited the stage in a flourish, with Madame Giry practically on my heels. "That was amazing!" She babbled out in the hallway. I wanted to wipe the ignorant smile off of her face. Turning to face her, my eyes burned with festering loathing. Madame Giry had been left as some sort of caretaker for me, and she had done absolutely nothing reasonable on my account in her position. I was at a loss for words.

"Don't talk to me," I muttered, moving up to my bedroom. She looked confused but she did not pursue. For some reason, I felt miserable, and I felt like dealing with no man nor phantom today or tonight for that matter. Life had suddenly become a puzzle of sorts, and I was determined to figure it out.

**A/N:** _Yeah, shorter than usual. Inspiration dwindling already. R and R. -.-_


	7. The Verge

**Chapter Seven: The Verge**

I found myself staring at the little bits I'd recorded in my journal. I should have known that I could never keep up with recording everything that had happened at the Opera House since I'd arrived. Instead, I'd started a mini-catalog of mysterious disappearances, sabotage, and murder accounts. It made sense, but then, it didn't.

The problem was that Erik had a heart. It seemed broken, and maybe a little tainted, but it was still there. If he was the Phantom behind all of these occurrences, I'm sure he could change. I sighed, rubbing my forehead. Maybe I needed to get away from all of this…a break of sorts. And then there was James. I sighed again, irate. This was already getting annoying. I felt as though I'd been here for years and it had barely been a week. It was absolutely ridiculous.

I closed my journal, giving up all hope on finding out how everything correlated. If Erik were completely unreasonable and horrible, it would have made perfect sense. But this was not the case. Grumbling to myself, I debated the Opera Ghost precepts. Was he really the Opera Ghost, or was he just pretending for the sake of having an edge on me? Maybe he was just a short-tempered man forced to dwell under the Opera House because of whatever deformity that happened to lay under that half-mask of his…it couldn't possibly be _that_ bad, could it? Maybe I was thinking too much—oh no, maybe I was getting attached! No…that couldn't be. I could get up and leave whenever I wanted to! …No I couldn't.

I put the journal away. My thoughts were still a great clutter of inconspicuous notions, facts, and myths. Maybe I needed to ask some unsuspecting person what they knew. But then, Erik was likely to find out. He seemed very capable of that to the point of sheer annoyance. Still, who cared if he knew? I still had free will and he had stated that he held no intention of enslaving me. First-hand sources were best anyway. I got up and headed down to the chorus girls' lounge. They were generally very annoying, because they had major gossip issues. But if they knew something, at least it wouldn't be boring.

No chorus girls were present. They must have had a rehearsal. I took it that the company was working with specifics at this point. Well, that out-ruled that idea. I suppose I could have gone in search of new routes to Erik's lair for the lack of better things to do, but lassos and walls of water sounded neither appealing nor enticing at the moment. I'd avoid his lair for now. Besides, he hadn't been very happy about the last time. Though I'd been down there twice now…

My curiosity was going to get me killed. I wandered aimlessly about the Opera House, noting that it was very deserted. I suppose even the weather outside must have gotten to those inside. I just felt caged, however. I hadn't seen Paris. All I knew was the Opera House. Perhaps that would make life simpler, but who was to say I wouldn't explore anyway? Now I understood why I drove Erik to the end of his wits…though I admit I delighted in every evil glare I received, for some odd reason. I still had an effect on him.

At first glance out the window, all my hopes of travel were crushed with the three-foot snowdrifts. Grumbling irritably, I pondered my situation. It was afternoon. My lesson wasn't until ten. Theoretically I had about nine hours to do nothing. I didn't want to risk breaking into the archives again, as there was a greater risk of being caught at this point. The whole place was under heavy watch since Monsieur Delacrois's death…

My feet carried me out of the room and down the stairs, in search of something interesting to do. Lately everything seemed too quiet around here. I could guess that in another two weeks or so, things would pick up when we were readying for the show. My ears perked up when somewhere down the hall; I became aware of the clash of metal. Someone was fighting!

Rather than of course, running from the scene like any normal person would, I continued down the hallway curiously and glanced into one of the practice rooms where a couple of the men were assembled and messing around with their rapiers. James had become the main opponent and looked as if he were faring quite well. I could definitely see that I had him in the speed department however.

Turning on my heel, I ran back to my room and grabbed my rapier, running back downstairs just in time to see James disarm his opponent. He now held two rapiers in his hands. The men assembled clapped and laughed at the man who now had no sword. James bowed rather stagnantly and then smirked as if it had been nothing. I saw that as my cue and crossed both blades near the pommel from behind. He swerved his head and the applause ceased. I raised a brow.

"En guard, Monsieur," I stated, sliding my sword out of the position and whirling around to attack from the front. He smirked a bit.

"Lady, I do not challenge the unworthy or the weak," He said, rolling his shoulders a bit, "So I shall put aside one sword and go lightly upon you."

"Do as you wish. You will have no sword in the end anyway," I retorted, still holding my rapier at level with his nose. The other men laughed. He nodded rather doubtfully, tossing aside his previous opponent's sword and backing up a few steps to put his rapier on point with mine. He raised a brow.

"Shall we dance, my lady?" He asked, stepping lightly in the circular fashion. I followed, an eyebrow raised in return.

"Let me teach you how," I replied, lunging and crossing over to jab towards his right shoulder. He parried it efficiently, swinging immediately towards my abdomen. I blocked and swung our blades around to my left, the tips just barely skimming the floor. We broke and distanced again. His eyes blazed in amusement, head lowered slightly in intrigue. He did not remove eye contact.

"I did not ask for a _review_, my lady," he shot.

"Oh I would hate to _overwhelm_ you," I replied, glaring at him as I lunged again and made for his open left side. He parried and moved for my right immediately. I came up and blocked, swinging our blades out of range for a minute before I took a stab towards his left shoulder. His rapier shot up and sang as it pushed mine up and over. He moved for my right shoulder and I ducked before throwing an uppercut with the blade. He backed up a few steps as I rose and swung around, slamming his rapier and locking our blades in a cross formation. He grimaced, pushing on his side with a lunge. I counter-pushed and held him at bay for several seconds before we broke again.

I whipped around and nearly lanced him several times with a few swift movements, but each was blocked. I paused, drawing back for breath. He caught his as well, the amusement in his eyes giving way to sheer determination.

"Do you think it _wise_ to parry with an expert?" He asked, circling again.

"Do you think it _wise_ to tangle with assumptions?" I retorted, following his movements in a circle. The men watching seemed a bit restless at this point.

"You'll just have to prove me wrong," he answered haughtily, tilting his blade again. "On y va."

"D'accord." My blade shot across the opening as I whirled again, engaging him in a fierce battle of glinting metal as it slashed through the air in light vigor. I tried once to hook his pommel but did not succeed and almost lost my footing in the process. Finally, he thrust my blade across the room with a smug look, putting his own at the tip of my chin.

"The battle is mine," he stated. I smirked, before dodging out of the way and sliding across the floor. He planted a foot in my way but I swiftly grabbed my hilt again, swinging my legs at his ankles, and tripping him. Ill prepared, he went toppling to the floor in surprise as I swung up to my feet and held his throat at the point of my rapier.

"Nay sir. I think not," I answered. He said nothing but stared at me through wide eyes. I nodded politely and backed off, sheathing my weapon and moving for the door. The onlookers had awe-stricken expressions painted upon their faces. "Good day, gentlemen," I said, before moving out of the room. Once out of hearing distance, I laughed.

When I returned to my room, there was no note, but there was a piece of parchment on my desk with a quick message scribbled on it. 'Eight 'o' clock.' I sighed and put my rapier down, stretching and looking out the window again. Eight 'o' clock. Well. Now I only had about six hours to kill.

"Faye?" It was Madame Giry. Maybe I wouldn't have to worry about the six hours of nothing. "We're doing a run-through," she informed, "And then official measurements for costumes." I nodded, placing my rapier away and grabbing my dance shoes. Whistling to myself, I started down the stairs and looked down upon the swarm of chorus girls and boys, coupled with technicians and musicians running about. Ah the perfection that is chaos…

I floated into the theater, walking by James and assuming position at center stage. I plopped down and laced my shoes, before standing and exercising a bit before I awaited the start command. Carlotta waltzed in with an elaborate headpiece of sorts, which made me snicker. "Messieurs, this has been selected for my gala scene," she stated, modeling the piece as if it were the eighth wonder of the world. I snickered again. The directors exchanged uncomfortable looks before looking back at her.

"Can the designers perhaps…tone it down a bit?" Asked Monsieur Reyer a bit nervously. Carlotta snapped and was about to start screaming at them, but I decided they didn't deserve to be berated for their honesty like that, so I threw a swift kick to the back of Carlotta's thighs. She screeched and whirled on me.

"You little vermin!" She hissed, taking a swipe at me with those clawed fingers of hers. I dodged and smiled. The managers quickly found something else to occupy themselves. I shrugged and quickly made myself nearly invisible, so Carlotta was left to stand in utter confusion. The tactic worked fairly well and soon the run-through was underway.

After having sparred with James earlier, there was a bit more of a competitive edge to the farewell sequence. It was more amusing than aggravating, however. When the run-through had finally ended, and a few of the scenes worked on, there was little more than half an hour left before said lesson. I was exhausted and irritated, even as I went to retrieve my rapier and things. I received a few odd looks as I made my way back down to the theater, but ignored them pointedly. I'm sure all kinds of things were going through the rumor mill at this point, and didn't care to know about them.

I dropped my things restlessly on the stage, glancing at the few candles that were lit. Sitting down, I began lacing up my shoes. I was not in much of a mood to deal with Erik tonight, and was quite irritated with not having a nap in between rehearsal and lessons. A door slammed in the back of the theater, light but urgent steps plodding through the darkness.

"Horrendous!" Erik's voice seethed through the darkness. I rolled my eyes as his once-menacing form appeared on stage. I rose patiently, trying not to let my aggravation dominate my tone.

"What irks you now, dear Opera Ghost?" I asked through gritted teeth.

"If you ever plan to be a star of this opera house, you are not to go sparring with the chorus men because you are bored!" He shot.

"I am well aware of the fact that you stalk me. If I cared or didn't want you to know of my activities, I'd conceal them," I answered evenly. I tired of his ways…

"Your performance was despicable!" He continued.

"Town crier," I coughed, stretching out my limbs. "You can complain all you want to. Somehow I don't think your words will imprint themselves upon my mind. Not much else concerned with you contains much use for memory..." He grabbed my wrist and twisted me around, bringing my back flush with his chest. I gasped, twisting in his harsh embrace.

"You are on my grounds," he stated darkly, "You will abide by my rules…" I struggled but found myself in a locked position. "Do I make myself perfectly clear?" I nodded before finding myself released. I lost my balance and fell to my hands and knees, glaring at him through blazing green eyes. "Your scales, Miss Lavonne," he stated, making his way off stage. Sighing in annoyance, I dusted myself off and recomposed, before singing a scale. "Awful," he spat, "Do it again."

"Sometimes I do not appreciate your honesty…" I muttered through gritted teeth. He snapped his lasso against the stage and I automatically retreated a step.

"I said, do it again," he breathed angrily. I sang again, trying to think about what exactly he wanted from me. Then there was silence and a deep sigh resounded from the shadows. "Faye, what's wrong?" He finally asked, as though he was trying to control his temper. It's the first time he'd ever expressed much care in my well being so I paused, staring at the shadows for a moment.

"Nothing… I've just had a very long day and I don't feel like doing this," I responded.

"You have to push yourself," he responded, "I can't do all the pushing all the time." I sighed, rubbing my temples. There was another moment of silence. "Let's dance, first," he finally said. I heard him approaching and looked up to see him enter the small area of candlelight. Still menacing. God I hated him…

He took me gently into his embrace, sparking familiarity. I stepped back instinctively but he held me insistently, coaxing me closer until I barely rested against him. "Slowly now," he said, moving with careful grace across the stage, "Lightly…why so tense?" He stopped and met my eyes. I shook my head at him and moved to pull away. "Oh never mind… how did I do it again?"

"Do what?" I asked nervously. His fingers sought my waist and I squirmed a bit, the sensation causing extreme discomfort.

"Ah yes." His fingers cinched my waist and I went limp with a gasp. He smirked rather daringly. "Well-oiled machine," he commented, moving back up into the dance. I was far too exhausted to remember the dance. He led through spins and twirls like some vague apparition, guiding my blind form through dreams and visions.

"Are you quite relaxed now?" He breathed. I jolted back to reality and found myself loosely hooked over his arm, my leg riding up on his left hip, supported by his other hand. My eyes went wide but I simply couldn't get myself to _move_.

"Yes," I muttered almost feverishly, closing my eyes again and hanging there in silent surrender. I was too tired to fight him off right now…too exhausted to make some half-witted retort just to see the fire in his eyes again…

"Are you ready to sing?" He asked. His tone sounded slightly sarcastic and amused, but I didn't open my eyes.

"No…" I whispered. I could feel his lips on my neck, gently smoothing over the skin. He moved along my jaw.

"You would dare refuse your teacher's orders?" He murmured softly, finding more interest in the base of my jaw.

"What's the difference between daring to refuse and refusing?" I asked, leaning my head back away from him tentatively.

"You dare but you do not refuse," he whispered sensually, his fingers curling around the edge of my waist.

"I do refuse…" I breathed.

"You want to…I know your fiery little heart too well, little tiger," his lips were at my ear, "You want to but you cannot."

"I despise you…" I growled.

"Yes…" He answered, brushing his lips along my cheekbone. I shuddered as his fingers wrapped around the side of my thigh. Gasping, my eyes flew open as my senses began to return.

"No, no!" I growled suddenly, trying to wrench myself out of his grip. It was too late though. He'd planned it out well. I soon found my back flat against the wall, darkness enveloping me as he pressed with a hiss.

"How long did you think the distant longing in your eyes would go unnoticed?" He chortled. I could barely see him now, but I'm sure I was bright red.

"What do you know about longing?" I spat into the darkness, struggling to wrestle his arms away. It was useless; he was like a fence around me.

"A lot more than you do, I'm sure," he answered haughtily.

"My God, you're so invasive!" I fumbled. He laughed a bit.

"And if I were not, how could your life ever be interesting, my dear?" He purred charismatically.

"Backstabber…" I hissed.

"Just remember, you said it first, my darling," he chuckled.

"I resent that!"

"You resent _everything_," he replied quickly, "Stop being so… resentful!"

"Only if you stop being invasive!" I suggested, my glare piercing the darkness.

"Never," he answered simply. There was a smile on his voice—a menacing one at that.

"Fine. Then let me go," I reasoned.

"I'll have to think about it…"

"NOW."

"Well then, if you're going to use that tone with me, I think I'll keep you right where I want you," he said almost coldly, tightening his grip.

"Let me tell you something, Monsieur Erik. No one cages me. No one has me where they want me. No one orders me around. I obey _no one_…" I started.

"Proceed." He sounded as if he was trying to express vague interest.

"I am free. I walk freely; I do what I like. I don't need to hang around here and be ordered about by the likes of you!" I scoffed, struggling again and meeting with the same amount of success—none. "Am I some kind of play thing? Do you enjoy bossing me around and thinking that you actually have control over me? Because you don't! I could just…walk away, whenever I chose to! And I will! Mark my words, I wi—" He closed his lips around mine and I strove to free myself but found it nearly impossible.

He coaxed me into the kiss, and I relaxed, but not of my own will. He broke for a minute and brought me closer in his embrace. I caught my breath and moved despondently to escape but he caught me again and my mind connection broke. I lifted a hand to cup the side of his face and draw him closer into the passion of the moment. He stopped it again and locked his gloved fingers with my hand, pressing it to his face and sighing a bit.

"Faye…" He whispered, "Don't pretend you hate me…" My eyes opened to the darkness and I blinked back tears. But I refused to surrender.

"I don't have to pretend." I stated, slipping from his arms and grabbing my things. "Good night, Monsieur."

**A/N:** _Yep. That sucked._


	8. Always

**Chapter Eight: Always**

Out; I needed to get out of here. In a panic, I found myself in my room throwing together what little belongings I had. _Don't pretend._ I scoffed at the memory of his words. It was ridiculous; absolutely ridiculous. I'd changed into my riding trousers. I planned on running, and by God, I would escape. It didn't take long to get everything together.

I quickly found a piece of parchment and scribbled a note. 'Don't follow me.' I folded it and left it by the window, gathering my things in a flurry of movement before I was out the door. Somehow I didn't think he'd listen to my note, but if it could buy me more time—

"Faye?" I groaned at the sound. Why did he exist? I whirled around.

"Yes, James?" I asked impatiently.

"It's probably not my business, but where are you going?" He asked, quirking a brow.

"Away from here. Away from the Paris Opera," I explained briefly, before turning back down the hall. "Good-bye, James."

"So that's it? You think you can just run from your problems?" He followed, his tone taking on a matter of urgency, voice raising slightly.

"It never failed before," I remarked coldly, "It never failed when it freed me to pursue a dream." I turned towards the foyer. "I didn't know that dream would betray me…" He grabbed my wrist and whipped me around to face him.

"You can't do this, Faye!" He persisted, "What do you think lies out there for you?"

"Freedom!" I tried to retort, but he gripped me and pulled back towards the dorms.

"A cold, snowy world. No life out there. No money. Hardships perhaps, but no more freedom than that which you have found here," He rambled, dragging me. I planted my feet stubbornly and wrenched a hand from his grip, pulling out my knife and putting it to his neck. He gasped and released me, backing away slowly. "Faye, rethink this…"

"I'm in no mood to argue, James. I'm in no mood to participate in a battle of words. I need to be away now, and you're not going to stop me!"

"I won't let you go," he said sternly.

"I never gave you the option of deciding!" I yelled, my eyes blazing at him.

"At least tell me why you have chosen such rash options," he requested.

"The more I tell, the less you will believe. Thus, I must go now. You wouldn't understand," I replied.

"I could try." The response began an awkward silence. "Faye…" he whispered. I looked back through the darkness at him. His eyes sought me imploringly, and I thought for a moment, he looked remotely concerned. "I care about you…"

"Liar!" Was my immediate response. I jerked away from his eyes and headed off once more. "You don't care at all!"

"If I didn't care, why would I be here?" he demanded, following me stubbornly.

"To preserve your shining moment onstage! God forbid your co-star should quit!" I seethed.

"What's going on?" Madame Giry's voice came from behind us. Things just kept getting better, I thought sarcastically.

"She thinks she's leaving," James replied to Madame Giry. I growled in my throat and whipped back around.

"And what do you think you're going to do about it? Openly tackle me? Hunt me down? Lock me in my room like a prisoner?" I waved my dagger emphatically and both seemed to pause at the sight of its deadly glint.

"Miss Lavonne—" Madame Giry began.

"Shut your mouth, you speck of dust!" I shot at her angrily, "Ever since I have arrived, you have not taken on the duties you should have. I've been left to fend for myself in this new world of the Opera house. You warned me not of _Erik_ and his intentions for new opera singers!"

"—Faye!" Her eyes were wide with disbelief that I'd said the name I had been forbidden to say.

"Shall I then, reveal all secrets? Why, it would make me quite the sum of money!" I accented the situation with further sarcasm, raising a brow.

"Who's Erik?" James asked. Madame Giry looked exceedingly angered.

"Miss Lavonne, really—"

"My work here is through." I turned on my heel and ran for the door. Behind me, Madame Giry raised shouts and I could hear James coming after me. But I was too fast. My feet carried me like wings through the door and out into the frigid air. The snow did not impede me, and I trudged on into the drifts, paying little attention to anything else except the long path ahead of me.

After almost fifteen minutes of breathless flight in a direction that could not seem to distinguish itself from north or south, I heard hoof beats. I could not continue onward in this state. I collapsed for air under the eaves of a nearby shop, taking in sharp amounts of breath and nearly choking on it. My vision had gone from an icy clear to a blur. It didn't matter to me anymore. Nothing mattered. Perhaps death was on his merry road, searching for me. The hoof beats could have been my imagination. Secretly, I hoped that they were. I could not imagine anything worse than death at this point. Well, there was one thing…

"Get up, you pitiful creature," a voice said. Erik. Worse than death. It was over, for certain; it had to be. Shivering, I opened my eyes and rose. He stood there in the swirling snow, a black stallion waiting patiently behind him. "I should kill you," he stated. I nodded and gulped a bit. "But seeing as how I am merciful, I will not." A moment of breathless silence lingered. "You will abide by my will, or suffer the repercussions," he continued, "I have been lenient—very lenient. You should be grateful. Tell me, Miss Lavonne, are you grateful?"

"Yes, m'lord," I answered, "Grateful." The word contained a bitter edge and I bit my tongue.

"Then do we have an understanding?" He asked. I nodded, and felt weak. "Then come." He whirled swiftly and handled the reins of his stallion, before pausing at the sound of more hoof beats. A white mare presently appeared, with James in the saddle. Erik hissed a bit, drawing away and hiding his face with his cape. I shivered in the blast of cold air as James leapt off his horse in a flourish, drawing his rapier.

"Faye, who is this man?" James demanded, keeping his blade up defensively.

"James…"

"Who is he, Faye?" James repeated, raising his voice with blazing eyes. Erik thrust his cape back, revealing his mask and drawn rapier.

"Get on the horse, Faye," Erik said in a low voice, not taking his eyes from James.

"But—"

"Get on!" He whipped the snow at my feet with his rapier. I responded immediately with obedience, mounting the black stallion nearby, which pawed at the ground impatiently.

"So…" James moved into a defensive stance, circling Erik boldly, "Are the rumors true, then?"

"What rumors?" Growled Erik.

"That you are Faye's lover?" James asked. Erik laughed.

"Don't be stupid, boy. No man in his right mind would make love to such an ignorant wench," he finally spat. I bit my tongue and drew blood. I couldn't say anything. I would continue to hold my tongue. But that bastard had just insulted me. I could take off, I supposed, and leave them. But that would lead James to pursuit, and Erik to rage.

"Ignorant? Why, you are deceived by your own ignorance!" Shot James, "If she is such trouble to you, why not release her into my care?"

"I am her teacher," Erik answered, "And in her best interest, I do not see it as fit to place her in the care of an insolent fool."

"Who's the fool?" Battled James. Erik laughed again. "Or are you a mad man?"

"Your juvenile insults put you no higher or lower on my list of priorities," Erik retorted, "I pity such a waste of life."

"Why do you hide your face?" James demanded. I felt the darkness creep up and pool about Erik's feet. "Are you so hideous?"

"I give you chance to retreat, boy. Otherwise, I will see that you meet your fate right here. And even your name will fade into the record books."

"Who do you think you are?" James asked, his eyes narrowed. I flashed him a warning look.

"Make your choice, you reckless youth," Erik hissed. James moved his eyes between Erik and me. Finally, he sheathed his weapon.

"This is not the last time we shall meet!" Retorted James. He mounted his horse and rode off into the swirling mist of snow. Erik was practically steaming. He sheathed his rapier and mounted behind me in a flourish. I bit my tongue still. He had called me an ignorant wench, and if I were to open my mouth, the words would be anything but flattering.

"Speak, Faye," Erik finally commanded as the stallion plodded silently along. "And do not say that you have nothing to say, for I know you do." I paused for a moment, my heart pounding with the sheer thought of what he was capable of doing to me.

"I have no words or actions for you," I replied blandly.

"Let's see how far lying gets you, Miss Lavonne," he said, a sharp edge on his voice.

"You assume too much, Monsieur," I answered coldly.

"I make no assumption. The tremble," his whisper crawled about my neck and I shivered as his fingers traced the curve of my right shoulder, "of your body, betrays you." It was true. I trembled.

"Did you mean what you said?" I asked quietly.

"What did the letter I wrote you say?" He asked back, steering the horse in a direction away from the Opera House. I thought for a moment.

"That you thought I was admirable…" I answered.

"And do you better trust rage or sincerity?" He questioned.

"Sincerity," I answered.

"Good girl." He urged the horse into a dark passage. "There's not much use in feeding your little English friend's need for gossip." I said nothing as we entered the dark passage. "Trust me. You will not regret having been found by me. I'm certain another moment with Monsieur James would have been somewhat unpleasant—"

"James was not what I ran from," I quickly intervened. He was silent. We arrived at a torch and he swept off the horse in one swift movement. He grabbed the torch and the reins, leading along the passage in a dark silence. I assumed we were returning to his lair. What words awaited me lay in question…

We came to a ramp and he whirled around the stallion, taking a hold of me and urging me down. I hopped from the horse slowly, falling into step with him. He guided me into a boat, lighting a lantern and setting the torch in a placeholder situated on the wall. Then he stepped in and the boat went forth smoothly, gliding across the murky water.

"I must further advise you of that boy. Avoid him as much as possible. He's nothing but trouble," Erik said monotonously, moving the boat along in a steady path.

"Tell me something I don't know…" I grumbled, "He's quite innocent, however. He has no idea what's going on."

"His young and curious mind will lead him to follow you, and this will cause problems," he warned, steering the boat along a narrow path.

"I think he knows to keep his distance," I responded, staring blankly into the darkness. Erik said nothing as we floated onto the lake. He drew the vessel to the shore, exiting and offering a hand to help me to land.

"I must re-express that I do not appreciate being lied to," he began, releasing me and shedding his cape. I was beginning to realize how terrible it must have been to live down here. His statement was clearly directed at a specific incident… "Denial constitutes a lie."

"Why do you live down here?" I asked. He was quiet for a moment and then, he shook his head, seating himself at his organ.

"You would not understand," he said quietly, staring at the keys of the organ. I didn't want to be compassionate right now. I wanted to insist that I didn't care. But my heart got the better of me and I went to him slowly.

"Erik…" He looked at me when I spoke, and I was fearful. "I ran because I was terrified…" I confessed, lowering my eyes. "Terrified that you were right…" There was a long silence and he turned his face back to the organ. "I want to know you," I continued, "I want to know why you're here." There was more silence and he breathed a sigh. I was staring at the masked side of his face.

He turned slowly and met my eyes, an earnest expression upon his face. "To know me is to know the darkness," he answered. I nodded, not breaking eye contact.

"Then teach me the ways of darkness," I said.

"You are brave to pursue such knowledge," he commented, standing and walking a few paces, his back to me. "It is something indescribable. There is so much to see, and yet, no way to see it," he responded. I was silent, my eyes resting on him. He was still, his head bowed slightly. "This place is my solitude, Faye…" He whispered, clenching a fist at his side, "My sanctuary… where I am not judged by face alone…"

"What is so terrible about your face?" I asked gently.

"This is one thing I would not reveal to you for the world," he stated harshly.

"Erik…"

"No, Faye." He moved away a bit more, almost anxiously. He was trying to maintain an ounce of strength, but his posture declared his deterioration.

"What more can I do for you?" I asked.

"You could apologize," he suggested. I hesitated.

"Apologize? For what?" I asked. He sighed heavily.

"Faye…" he began with a warning tone.

"Erik, I have done you no intentional harm," I reasoned, shifting my stance a bit.

"My patience with you has worn thin," he warned. His shoulders had tensed. I looked for the nearest escape and backed towards it cautiously, keeping a close watch on his changing figure. "You run, you flee, you act like a child…is this all some sort of game to you?" He whirled unexpectedly, eyes ablaze. Somehow, it always boiled down to an argument.

"I should ask you the same question!" I snapped.

"You cause me frustration beyond the depths of hell!" he snarled. "Why don't I just kill you and be done with it?"

"Why not?" I challenged indignantly, "Perhaps it will relieve you of your misery!" He came at me and I bolted behind an arrangement of candles. He glared at me dangerously from behind them, his eyes aflame with a thousand kinds of passion.

"Darkness will have you…."

"Your words are worthless unaccompanied," I answered.

"Soon, there will be nothing I have said that will be unaccompanied, my faithless student," he hissed. He darted swiftly around the candles, lunging for me. There was nowhere to go besides the lake. I dove desperately into the cold water, hitting bottom with my palms and rising in little more than two feet of water. Hearing a splash behind me, I shot across the lake. The passages would all be uncertain for travel, but I could use them. I could make it. I could escape. I would...

Suddenly, he grabbed me and forced me under. In a flurry of watery panic, I struggled against him enough to gain one rasping breath above the surface. Soon, I was in taking water and slowly drowning with no sense of direction. I was dragged sturdily up and dropped on the shore. Erik half-collapsed over me, shirtless it appeared. I coughed up water, my insides feeling sore and swollen. I un-blurred my eyes to stare up at his soaked form, his tense abdomen heaving over me, revealing toned muscles. I tried to writhe away, flipping over on the dirty ground. He growled wordlessly, flipping us back over and pinning me to the ground with a gasp. I choked some more, fighting the black edges on my vision.

His fingers closed around my neck as he caught his breath and stared down into my blurring eyes. The dirt from the ground clung to my skin and embedded itself. "Did you think that entering my domain would admit you to leave at your convenience?" He breathed in a husky voice. I choked and struggled more, but to no avail. "You go nowhere unless I dismiss you!" His eyes burned with a malignant fire—like the devil's eyes. I was left with no choice but to stop fighting…unless I wanted to die.

With a ragged sigh of surrender, I collapsed underneath him; closing my eyes and letting my shoulders go slack. "Clearly, we do not have an understanding, Miss Lavonne," he continued. I breathed evenly. "Allow me to clarify. You do not go, lest I tell you to go. You do not come unless I call for you. You sing when I tell you to sing, you dance when I tell you to dance—you will do as I say, always. I will have it no other way—"

"—No," I answered. I opened my eyes boldly and met his gaze.

"I beg your pardon?" He was holding his temper for the moment, as if to make me believe he actually cared for an answer of me.

"You cannot take my freedom," I stated, "You do not _own_ me, Monsieur. I do not answer to your every command, nay, I will not!"

"You dare impune me thus? Your life is already at stake!" He warned.

"Go ahead; take my life!" I burst, tears ravaging my eyes with neither mercy nor compliance. "It is better to die than to live a life imprisoned by the battered chains and ropes of a madman!"

"Madman!" He narrowed his eyes; "You wanted to know me!"

"And what do these threats or broken compromises mean to a man who finds neither meaning nor motivation within them? Does my despair serve you well, Monsieur? Would you delight in causing pain without thought of the true damage you could inflict?" I ranted, my glare holding steady.

"…I would keep you for my own," he answered softly.

"You are selfish as a child!" I spat, meeting his grip and forcing him up. He answered the motion by standing and twisting me about, bringing my back to his chest and gripping my wrists firmly.

"Then perhaps we are both as children are. You would run, and I would give chase. No road is without an end. I will catch you," he answered haughtily.

"I do not tread with mortal feet. I fly," I answered, trying to wrench free again.

"Fly?" He seethed, "Fly?" His voice was foreboding and filled with all kinds of reprimand. He shoved me down to my knees, pressing his own knee at the small of my back and tugging firmly at my arms until the limbs burned with the pain of ripping tendons. "I will rip out your wings, my poor, pathetic little angel…" He dropped me as a shriek escaped my throat. "And you will fly no more…" he stated through gritted teeth.

"Please!" I pleaded, "Please release me. I beg of you!" He loomed over me.

"How many opportunities have I had to kill you?" He breathed. I shuddered and did not answer. "Perhaps it is better torment to let you live…" I trembled a bit, but otherwise lay there listlessly. "Get up."

"My Lord, I fear my limbs will give out," I stated meekly.

"Get up," he ordered. Humiliated, I lifted myself slowly, standing upon my feet. I was on the edge of total collapse. He braced my shoulders, forcing me to meet his eyes. I stumbled closer, weary and blinking. I felt sore and beaten. I just wanted to rest now. "There is fear in your eyes…" his voice came lightly as a song and my eyes took in his eyes slowly. "Not of death…nor of meeting an end…"

"No…" I answered softly, "But a fear of you." He was silent and his eyes were veiled. I could not read him.

"I would feign understanding of such comments," he finally said, moving away. "You are dismissed. Go where you will…but know that, should you choose to run, I have not an ounce of mercy left." Dazed, I wandered completely graceless and exhaustedly out of the bounds of his lair.

Somehow I found the way back to my room, my eyes shifting to the windowsill where a plain answer lay in response to my earlier letter. I'd written for him not to follow—to not follow me. Staring at the neatly scrawled phrase, I crumbled the perfect paper and hunched over on the edge of the bed. I was reaching a breaking point. If escape required more detailed plans, then it would be so. I un-crumpled the note and looked at it again.

'I will always follow you.'

I thrust the paper into the fireplace, setting a flame to it with new resolve. Watching through glossy eyes, I thought through my new plan of action. "You will follow me no more, Erik…" I whispered.

**A/N:** _Okay, my apologies for the huge gap in updates. I've been sitting on this chapter for a while, debating whether or not it's what I wanted to happen, and finally, I changed it around a bit and got something that I sort of like. Again, I'm sorry, I've been really busy. Enjoy. GF_


	9. Vehemence

**Chapter Nine: Vehemence**

Failure floated on the air. It swirled about me like a never-ending vortex. There was no escape from myself, and no escape from Erik. I could not believe I had let it go on this long. It was clear to me that Monsieur Erik had far too much experience in the ways of stalking and trapping. There was no easy way out of my situation, no matter how hard I tried. On the one hand, I had a show to do, which was an obligation in itself. In addition to this, I had to deal with my private lessons, James's constant nagging, the watchful eyes of Madame Giry, and this looming fate that I was somehow always wrong. I was losing control, and I didn't like it.

It was late in the night by now. Dawn would break in a few more hours. I should have been sound asleep in my bed by now. I couldn't sleep, however. I was haunted by thoughts of Erik. I was haunted by everything he had said and done to me tonight. The way he touched me was detestably sensual, and I hated him for the way he made me feel. He knew every curve as if I was his, yet he could not seem to make up his mind as to the method of 'handling me.' Sometimes, he was gentle and careful. Other times, he was roguish and harsh—careless of twisting my limbs or bruising my flesh. I knew I did not help my situation, but I was confused.

Deep down inside, I harbored a growing respect for Erik. Each night seemed to reveal more of his genius to me. Yet every time a secret quality was revealed, another fault was discovered. He was impatient, jealous, and violent. He had a short temper, as did I. That must have explained our frequent sparring. He was ruthless. Sometimes he could be colder than ice, yet sometimes within him burned the flames of hell itself. He seemed to be neither human nor beast, yet sometimes I would see qualities of both creatures. He wasn't easily understood.

When I closed my eyes, I could almost hear his voice or feel his long fingers sliding over my shoulder. In my mind, he was telling me I was beautiful—that I was perfect. Then I would open my eyes and wonder at such fantasies. Did I no longer maintain control over my dreams? I used to have magnificent visions of great things. I could create glorious operas in my head and I would play them over and over again, pretending that I was a great composer and singer. Now I dreamt of Erik's leering face or musical voice, commanding but guiding me, all the same, toward greatness. It was ill and unfair. He had dared to invade my thoughts, my life, and my goals…he had dared.

Perhaps that was what was so intriguing about him. He dared, where other men would have declared me a shrew and left me to become an old maid. He did not try to tame me, as some men might have tried, but rather, take control as if he felt I had fallen into a frenzied rampage of sorts. He was not afraid of me in the least, but scoffed at my efforts to scare people away. He respected me—even found amusement in my ways at times. Yet I threw that all away and betrayed him to my own selfishness. Was this entire thing my fault? Had I been stupid in pursuing the wild dream of the theater?

I hated him. I was almost certain I hated him. I had to! He was invasive. He made me feel worthless, and yet at times, he made me feel as if I was the only thing in the world. His concentration on me was unsettling, and his vigor was disturbing. My eyes were closed. But I could see him clearly in my mind. It was as if he was with me everywhere, both haunting my steps and shedding infinite glory upon me. What sort of feeling was this? I'd spent so long in my own solitude that the thoughts of other people almost ceased to exist to me. I wasn't selfish—I was ignorant. I could still feel his lips closed around mine—tender, passionate, empowering, promising… the way he seduced my mind was hate-worthy. He made me feel weak and inferior. Yet somehow, I still felt like a goddess in his presence.

My eyes opened. I could not know sleep tonight. My feet slid out from under the covers and landed on the floor, leading me to the desk. I searched through the letters there, before pulling out one. "On the contrary, I think you are a most admirable lady… temperamental at times, even downright inane and aggravating…but admirable, coupled with a unique spark. You are unlike any other, and for that reason alone do I believe you will be successful," I read. I kept repeating the statements in my mind. What did that mean? Did it mean he would torment me for all eternity until I reached the level he wanted me at? Did it mean that one day he would grow bored with teaching and desert me, staying behind to watch with respect as I ascended to greatness? The whole thing was trivial.

I sighed, putting the letter aside and folded my arms on the desk, placing my forehead on my folded hands. What now? I had determined that this would end. But how could I make it end? It was an endless nightmare! I shivered in a sudden draft and felt tears stinging at my eyes. I couldn't sleep. I had to take a walk. Perhaps I could tire myself out enough to catch a bit of sleep.

I rose from the desk and shuffled across the floor, opening my door carefully. I checked outside for any signs of life before making my way down the stairs. All seemed to be silent in the Opera House, as it should have been at this hour. I let my feet lead me along until I reached the theater, where I could hear the distinct hum of a human voice beyond the doors. Curious, and slightly disturbed, I pressed my ear to the door, only to realize that someone was in there singing. It was most definitely male, but I did not recognize the voice from rehearsals.

I opened the door quietly and entered the dark theater. There were two candles lit onstage. Everything else was dark as night itself. I was drawn towards the stage by the haunting voice. I did not recognize it, yet it was so familiar. I hesitated, closing my eyes to the sound. Whoever it was sounded like an angel. The sound of his sturdy voice was empowering and sensual—no doubt built to seduce. But there was only one person I could think of that it could possibly be, and my mind dared not utter his name.

He sang of darkness and a deep sorrow. He sang of a love he could not know and a woman described as a goddess or nymph. She might have been a fairy queen. But whatever she was, his voice made her sound magnificent. I stepped again, and my own feet betrayed me. His beautiful voice ceased and I stood there blinking, still enraptured and almost oblivious.

"What are you doing up?" He asked quietly. I shook my head and the words caught in my throat. He waited with a patience I didn't know existed. I wasn't sure how he would feel about talking to me after our little go-round down in his lair.

"I couldn't sleep," I answered, straining my eyes to look around the shadows. I could not tell from where his voice derived.

"Did you think you would find answers in the theater?" He asked. His tone was indifferent. It tore my heart apart, and I felt sick inside. I could not understand this. His question lingered on the air. I could feel the tears from earlier making their way down my cheeks for some unknown reason. My soul felt weak. I felt so controlled and used. I felt helpless.

"I don't know what I expected to find." The words came out so soft they could have been a whisper. There was a lingering silence before Erik sighed.

"What troubles you, my dear?" He asked, moving from the shadows of the stage and approaching me. His shadow loomed over me for a moment before he leapt from the stage and stood a few feet from me. I found myself instinctively backing away a step before gulping. I turned my back and breathed a ragged sigh.

"I don't know, Erik," I responded. I could feel a ball of pain crushing my insides. I wanted so badly to break down and cry. I honestly needed a good cry, but I refused to allow myself to appear so weak in his presence. "Your voice is beautiful," I whispered, changing the subject. He was silent, but I heard him step closer. His hand hovered above my shoulder. My shoulder seemed to be reaching for his touch but I wanted so badly to just walk away. His fingers curved over my shoulder and he stepped up to me.

"I cannot offer you comfort, Faye," he said in a dark voice, "I have known nothing but suffering for all of my life." I jerked away abruptly, shuddering in the aftermath of his touch.

"I don't come to you for comfort. I wish to be free," I stated, trying to be cold but feeling my heart break with the thought of being away from him. "I can't live my life in your shadow. I need sunlight to grow," I explained.

"You can never be free," he breathed, moving in and closing an arm around my shoulders. I shivered and pushed him away, frustrated and helpless to run. He was silent then, just observing me. Inside, my emotions raged like a stormy sea. I was tormented—battered to the near point of submission. But I refused to give into his words. He wasn't some haunting spirit that could follow me to the ends of the earth! He was nothing but a rejected man, forced into the lifestyle he now lived. If I could flee Paris, I could escape him.

"You lie!" I admonished, "I am free! Free to go and do whatever I like! The only thing stopping me is your threat of death. That is a worthless threat in itself, Erik! What makes you think I place _any_ value on my life?" I glared through the darkness. I couldn't see his face, but I could sense the anger rising in him. I knew I was pressing another argument, and it's the last thing I felt able to deal with now. But I wouldn't back down.

"You fight for it like a rat in a corner!" He hissed, "You don't even know what you're talking about, Faye! You are not clever enough to fool me with these false statements!" I heard his voice moving as he circled around to my face, where his breath came in warning breezes.

"False statements!" Tears of anger burned without mercy in my eyes. "Are you insinuating that I am foolish?"

"Foolish! Stupid! Moronic! Any of these words will do, Faye," he answered in a cold voice, "Pitiful, like a newborn kitten without its mother!" The words seemed to drill into my skin, poisoning me inside and out. I felt sick again.

"I despise you!" I spat in defense, clenching my fists.

"Do you?" His voice contained an ounce of intrigue. I turned away from his presence and walked the opposite way. He blocked my path so suddenly that I nearly fell over. His arm shot out across my collarbone. "The way you seem to have a need of repeating it, suggests otherwise…" I stopped, catching my breath. "And the way you kissed me…would suggest otherwise," he mused in a whisper. I was taken aback by the comment.

"It was you who kissed me!" I snapped, "And a kiss means nothing!" It was a very bad attempt at turning the situation on him. The defense seemed to wash right over him.

"You returned the favor, Faye—willingly, might I add," he said. I could tell he was in a chipper mood this evening, or rather, early morning. I was not prepared to play him in this little game.

"You're dreaming this up!" I denied. "It's a silly little fantasy of yours!" He laughed a little.

"You waste my time," he admitted, "And you're damn exhausting."

"I'm glad!" I replied with an air of defiance, shoving at his arm and coming free of his grasp. I shuddered to myself at the thought of him touching me again. Lately I'd been feeling like I liked it, and inside I hated myself more and more.

"Well, good. And since you are having so much trouble obtaining sleep, we might as well get in another lesson," he suggested. I felt his arm slide around my shoulders, his cape enclosing my form and drawing me near to him. He led me towards the stage in one liquid movement, and for a moment, the candles on the stage seemed to float. I blinked, chills running along my limbs as he strode down the aisle with a graceful poise. Why did he have this effect on me? I suddenly began to feel dazed and weak, faltering somewhere in the midst of his grand cloak. My eyes fluttered shut, trying to escape. I gulped and took a deep, rasping breath. Finally, I shuddered and he ceased walking, his cloak rushing past me for a minute before settling smoothly around us. I dared to open my eyes and look up at him. The imploring expression on his face made me want to jump off of a bridge into the Seine. "And you said _I_ was lying…" He stated in a low voice, a devious smirk beginning to tug at the corners of his stern mouth. I shivered nervously, my resolution breaking slowly. His fingers closed around the curve of my shoulder possessively, suddenly drawing me into a firm embrace. I gasped in fearful shock, going tense in his hold.

He threw me from him then, his voice snapping like tumultuous thunder. "What did you think you would find in me?" He flew to the stage in angered grace, "I told you what you'd find, Faye! I told you!" The warning tone in his voice reprimanded me for the thoughts I hadn't dared to voice. I shuddered again, and attempted to shake off my temporary paralysis, picking myself up from the floor.

"You assume much," I stated faintly, a quiver resounding on my voice. If only I could walk away…

"I assume nothing. I speak only of what I know," he replied, hiding himself in the shadows of the stage wings. "Though what I know has been made quite evident to me…you deny the very thing that keeps you alive." His voice was faint and I paused, taking time to decipher the meaning of his words.

"Don't give yourself too much credit," I finally snapped, my eyes flashing at the shadows.

"Credit!" He laughed, "The credit is all yours, mademoiselle. You have a way of over-clarifying things with your _drama_."

"Drama indeed!"

"And it's obvious that you are making a point to ignore the _signs_," he continued. His voice was shifting. I saw his shadow fall across the candles, but I couldn't tell where he'd gone to now.

"—signs?" My eyes went wide in surprise before narrowing in anger. "Monsieur, you are treading in deep water!"

"At least I'm still wading. You are in over your head!" He accused. His voice seemed to come from all directions now, and I looked around.

"Like you could tell!" I cried in defiance, "You've been drowning for centuries!" I heard the terrifying snap of his lasso. I went down again as my waist was cinched in an even line. I hit the floor and was dragged towards the stage again, screeching as he yanked me along. He abruptly pulled me up on the rope, much like a puppet, except about the waist. I felt the rope digging into my abdomen and pain shot through me. Tears burned my eyes as his anger pooled around us again. He pulled my back to his chest with a low growl, his lips brushing against my ear as he uttered in a low voice.

"You wouldn't understand me even if you could see the world of the opera through my eyes, Miss Lavonne." The statement was cold and void of life. I caught my breath, squeezing my eyes shut. This was horrible. It had to be a nightmare. Where had I gone wrong? I had heard his sweet voice and it had driven me mad inside—mad with the need of him and mad with the need to escape him. I should have stayed in bed. I should have just lain there like a log. Grief was slipping into his voice; a heart-breaking disdain that raked me inside and out. "You wouldn't understand…" He whispered hoarsely. I felt myself crying with the weight of the situation. I longed for release, and I longed for him to be gentle once more. I just wanted to see that emotion dance in his eyes again. Maybe then, I could be rid of these foolish thoughts that corrupted my every waking moment and destroyed the strong woman I was.

He dropped me, releasing the rope and coiling it. I heard the whisper of a sob on his lips, but he turned away again. "Why do you do this, Faye?" He asked in a soft voice. I just cried, curling into myself. I didn't want to fight anymore. I just wanted to go home—home to Provence. The thought was striking me as wonderful and relieving. I could have been forced to dwell on the streets, and I would have been happy with it. "Why?" His voice was more insistent now. He had turned and was looking down at me again in anger.

"Erik, I'm sorry…" I whispered through my tears, "I thought I wanted to know you."

"Me?" The word was short and contained a bit of surprise, but relief at the same time. "You want to know a man who does not exist to the world?" I nodded in response and tried to sit up, but fell over again in my distress. I cried harder when I heard him approaching. I was certain he was going to hurt me again. I felt his soft cape fall across me like a shadow, his fingers slipping under my shoulders to lift me into his embrace. I didn't want it, but I did want it. It was too weak to resist it now.

"I want to know the man who sings like an angel, and speaks of the night as though it were his friend…" I whispered, opening my eyes to look at him. There was a kind of compassion in his eyes that I'd never seen before, and he wiped the tears from mine, breathing a ragged sigh. The candle light bounced off of his smooth form, illuminating him in his angel-like position.

"Faye…I have befriended the night by need alone," he answered. His eyes dropped, their gaze falling to the floor. I watched him, tears still threatening at the corners of my eyes. "Faye, you are beautiful…all I ever wished to know was beauty…tormented beauty…" The words were soft as a lullaby. For this one moment, I dropped the harsh person I had become and listened to him. For once, I was selfless. "Do you see… the only way I could know beauty was to take…"

"I do not understand the monstrosity from which you hide," I said, shaking my head, "I have never seen beyond the mask." He shook his head, tears building in his eyes. "Erik, let me see…" I whispered, "Let me see what you fear…maybe then, I would understand."

"No, Faye. To let you see would destroy me inside," he answered.

"Erik…" I tried to reason, but he shook his head. The tears were falling from his eyes now. It broke my heart to see him like that again. Some sick part of me wanted to share in his pain, and defeat it. Another part of me reveled in it, as though he somehow deserved it. Inside, I knew he didn't deserve it. He had never had to do anything to hurt another until others started hurting him. His demise was not of his doing. It was out of his hands, out of his control…out of human understanding and thought.

I was no different from the rest of the world now. I was curious and greedy. Nothing could stop me from what I was about to do, yet I knew it would somehow forever change my life. I kissed him gently, and felt a violent passion flood me. A murmur escaped his throat as his hands slipped around my waist, drawing me to him. Human instinct could not be controlled, I reminded myself. He was as curious and greedy as I, but in a different respect. My fingers slid deftly up and over his shoulders and neck, tracing his jaw and worshipping his skin. A contented and uncertain sigh left him before his need for power kicked in.

He pushed, gently at first, until I started leaning backwards, lips insistently pressing at mine. I gasped, having realized I had almost lost it. I righted the situation and kept us up. This would not work properly if I were to fall beneath him. I could feel the edge of his mask now. One quick motion and I would see. Finally, I would see! I began to peel the mask off, but I was not quick enough. He seized my hands and pushed me under him, pinning me carefully with his weight and maintaining the kiss. I struggled, finally, but only managed to get his lips to move down along my throat. The sensation was unbearable to me. It drove me completely wild. I had to get myself out of this now.

"Erik!" I whispered breathlessly. His teeth closed around my collarbone, fingers tightening around my wrists. I emitted a throaty gasp; suddenly lurching underneath him because of the strange feeling he had just awoken in me. "No, no!" I cried helplessly, wringing my wrists. He slid over me skillfully, lips moving up to my ear where he began to sing softly. It was my undoing. I felt that I would be lost forever after this moment.

"She dreamt of every star falling from the sky above," he sang, "She denied every thing she feared—to be afraid, to be in love." My eyes slid shut in the glorious release of it all. Inside, I was screaming. My heart was pounding so loudly that it drowned out every other sound in the world. I took raspy breaths as though I were drowning. My mind slowly began to regain control of me. _Run, Faye!_ It commanded, _Get up and run!_ How was I to accomplish such a feat? Could I even bear the thought of hurting him anymore? After all I'd done, and all we'd been through? Yes. I had to. There was no other way!

I flicked my wrists against his steady hands, forcing him up and off of me. He went reeling to the side, caught completely off-guard. I gasped for air, lying still for a moment. He didn't move. He simply looked across the darkness at my heaving form, a desirous glow burning away from him and leaving cold eyes to look down on me. All was still for the moment, but I couldn't allow him time to recompose himself. My purpose had been completely defeated.

"Why?" He whispered hoarsely, "Why do you do this, Faye?" Tears of a passionate self-hate welled up in my eyes. I wanted nothing more than to die, and never exist again. I had allowed myself to become the very definition of arrogance. There couldn't have been any turning back after this. Erik was shuddering now. He drew his cape close about him and glared. Inside, my mind was begging me to get a hold of myself. Why was I having so much difficulty with it?

It was late. I shouldn't have been here. I didn't want to be here. So why was I? Shaking, I rose to my feet, leaning on the nearest row of seats for support. I trembled. I knew I was a complete mess, but I had to get out of here. I straightened myself out, turning away from him.

"Where do you think you're going?" Erik asked. I heard him get up in turn, and brush himself off. "Do you think you can just escape this by going to your room?" I turned my head to look at him. He was backlit by the diminishing candlelight onstage.

"No, Erik," I stated quietly, "I'm not running anymore." He paused. I knew it wouldn't take long for the true meaning of that statement to sink in. He clenched his fists at his side, drawing his head up high. I shook my head at him and turned, walking up the aisle away from him. My room seemed to be calling me like a siren at this point, and I was more-than-willing to obey. I closed my eyes one last time before I reached the door. All I could see was that one moment where I had seen compassion in his eyes. I blinked back the tears and shook off my shoulders. The numbness from earlier was leaving me now.

"Fear can turn to love!" He called after me in a near desperate tone. I heard his voice crack at the end and knew that I'd broken him again. "You'll see, Faye!" He whispered loudly, "Faye!" I heard him falling to his knees. He sobbed quietly in the darkness behind me. But I was cold now. My mind had won again. My heart must have bled dry now. I was so sick of everything I'd come into. I knew I was just internalizing everything, but he would never have to know that. Only then might I buy my freedom back.

**A/N:** _Yeah, I know I took forever. Life is crazy. For those of you that I talk to on a regular basis, this would be the chapter with mentioned, ahem, EXTENSIONS. Anyway, I hope you like this chapter. It was a tough one._


	10. No Turning Back Now

**Chapter Ten: No Turning Back Now**

One of the hardest things to do is to admit needing help. I sat, sleepless and trembling as the sun began to peek through the drapes, in my room. I hadn't slept a bit all night or morning, for the images that haunted me. I could stare blankly at the wall, and I would still see Erik towering over me like a horrific shadow. How could I let things go on like this? I'd let myself become engulfed by his passion. I'd let him devour and possess me beyond the point of no return. How had it become so bad?

There was only one other choice. I had to tell someone. I had to get help. I could no longer defend myself, for I'd become far too weak. Erik would know that soon if he didn't already. He would conclude that my flight was just a façade; a weak attempt of breaking free and preserving what was left of my dignity. But who could I tell that could offer me protection? Madame Giry was useless for that. She was well aware of what was going on, and she did nothing about it. I knew the chorus girls wouldn't help. And what was the chance that James would believe me? Could he even protect me? Would he even want to? He was my only hope at this point. I had decided not to run. I would simply defend myself with all the strength and support I could muster.

I rose from bed on careful feet, tiptoeing to the door and peering into the corridor. Silence. I exited my room, closing the door and making my way quietly to the boys' dormitory. The halls seemed to be sleeping in a dusty silence. I passed through one of the many sitting rooms, where Buquet the stagehand snored away by a dying fire. The floor creaked as I approached the entrance to the dorm. The candle by the door had just burned out, and the slight breeze of my steps swirled the trails of smoke into the air. It vanished like the phantoms of the night, kissed by the light of dawn. I listened for noise. Erik might be watching my every move. He might be suspicious of me. He could be nearby, lurking in the walls at any given moment. But I did not feel his presence or his eyes, so I determined that he was not anywhere near.

Madame Giry was nowhere in sight. Neither were any more of the more important theater officials. So, opening the door, I entered the boys' dormitories quietly, snooping about the beds. My only light source was the sun itself, and the rays were not quite strong enough to provide ample illumination. Still, I somehow came across James. He was sound asleep on his back, his head nestled into the crook of his left arm. I shook his shoulder gently. "James?" I whispered. He grumbled in his sleep and slowly awoke, blinking in the dim light of morning.

"Faye?" He sat up, a surprised expression slipping onto his face, "What are you doing in here?" He looked self-conscious for a moment, before glancing around the room to see if anyone else was awake. All else was silent.

"Sh!" I motioned for him to follow me back to the door. He hesitated, but soon followed after me, slipping on a pair of shoes. Out in the hall, he looked down at me inquisitively.

"What is it?" He asked.

"James, I need to talk to you," I said in a low and grave voice. Concern glazed his face. He shifted his stance, scratching at the back of his neck.

"What's wrong?" He asked. I paused, uncertain of what to say. Only then did I realize it was unsafe to speak in the midst of the Opera House. Erik would hear. He might not be here now, but somehow, he would know. He always did. Nothing in his Opera House was private.

"Not in here," I whispered, "I can't tell you in here." James raised a brow and looked around. I continued to look at him with a pleading expression, biting my bottom lip. I couldn't believe I was doing this. In part, I did feel guilty, but I also felt it was for the best.

"All right…well…" He looked down at his nightclothes. "Let me get changed, and I'll meet you at the stables."

"Thank you," I nodded in a whisper, before running back to my room. I changed into a warm wool gown and stockings, lacing my boots quickly. I strapped on my various weapons, tightening everything and checking it. I tied my hair back from my face loosely, searching through a trunk for my gloves.

"Faye," a voice whispered from the wall. I nearly fell over, clutching my gloves and slamming the trunk shut. My eyes darted around the room, wide with fear. "In the mirror, Faye…" My eyes fell upon the mirror. A sick feeling rose inside me. He was watching me. He was watching my every move. "Come talk to me," he reasoned, "You cannot possibly be in a hurry…" I stared in horror as the mirror slowly shifted and began to open.

"Oh, no, you stay away from me!" I cried. I grabbed my cloak and slammed the door behind me, all but flying down the stairs. I cautiously moved through the corridor, praying that I would make it to the stable unharmed. Suddenly, his voice resounded through the walls again. But this time it was not so sweet and seductive. It was harsh and reprimanding.

"Faye!" I stopped in the middle of the corridor, my eyes wide. It was as if God himself had come down to scold me. His voice surrounded me. I shuddered. "Where do you think you're going?" Erik demanded. I heard him stepping behind the walls, until he was close-by. He couldn't reach me yet. He couldn't stop me. I could hear horse hooves outside.

I paused. The fact that he could not reach me was comforting, and I felt a bit of my old self restored at this. "It is none of your business as to where I go, so long as I return," I snapped, "Now good bye." I picked up my strides again, drawing my cloak close around me.

"Faye!" He warned. I paused mid-step, my dress and cloak hanging heavy about my form like a weight.

"You can't stop me," I spat, turning partway to glare at a crack in the wall. His shadow passed over it. I shook my head and continued at a brisk pace to the stables, swinging the door open and moving down the stabled hallway. James was just bringing his horse out. He nodded at me, adjusting his overcoat and hat.

"Come on," he said quietly, holding his white horse by the reins and offering me a leg up. He mounted behind me, handling the reins as I leaned back into his embrace. We rode out of the stable and through Paris, over snowdrifts and past buildings. Everything passed in a soundless whir—like a dream. We rode for what seemed like a lifetime—until I felt that we were far enough away from the Opera House to not be heard. Passively, I had to wonder what I thought this would accomplish. But I kept reassuring myself that I was somehow doing the right thing. If I weren't running anymore, I would protect myself no matter what. If James would listen, I might feel safe again.

He stopped the horse when I shifted against him. I couldn't speak to save my soul. I simply clenched my jaw in hopes of holding myself together. The cold light of dawn produced a soft glare on the tops of the endless rows of snowdrifts. James dismounted and offered a hand to help me down. I stumbled a bit when I hit the ground, but he caught my shoulders, looking down into my eyes. "Faye…what is it?" He asked. I thought I might have a breakdown, but I held myself together. I felt so torn. Could I betray Erik and befriend James? Could I really be enemies with the phantom? Did I want to be? Our breath mingled in small clouds on the cold winter air. Nothing seemed real. It all felt like some surreal dreamscape in which I was attempting to confront my problems.

"James…I'm sorry. I know I've never been friendly or anything," I babbled. He still looked at me attentively. If I could just coax myself into telling… I cast my eyes downward, biting my lip. "But I really need your help." The silence lingered. I shuddered in the cold winter air. My cloak was warm, but I still felt cold—inside and out. It was the impenetrable freeze of treason. My heart was in my throat at the thought of telling. But here I was, hoping he would believe me should I ever get the words out. I felt terrible things: guilt, sorrow, anger…

"Faye, whatever you have to say, I will try to help," James assured. I knew he was still looking at me, but I couldn't get myself to look up at him. I shook my head, finally breaking contact with him and moving away. This was so stupid, but so vital. I kept thinking of Erik's eyes--_his powerful form rose over me, his voice thundering with a tremulous tone of dominance. The fire in his eyes could have lit up Paris. His fingers closed possessively around my shoulders, forcing me into his embrace. He hissed in my ear…_

"No!" I screeched, jerking away, "Stay away from me!" James had moved closer, trying to reassure me with a tender embrace. I sent him reeling away with my hallucination, blinking at him through horror-stricken eyes. Only then did I realize that the thought of Erik continued to pull me back to where I felt that I should be right now. I wasn't supposed to be here. My breath ragged, I tried to soothe myself with a soft murmur, turning away from James again. He looked confused, and possibly a bit frightened.

"Faye…" He whispered. I started to cry again. I kept breaking, and it felt awful. I shook my head in momentary delirium. My thoughts drifted into a multitude of places, trying to make sense of far too many things at once. Everything became confused, and I was no longer here.

"He's always watching…" I whispered, kneeling in the snow and burying my face in my hands, "He never lets me sleep…never lets me dream peacefully…always pushing me…"

"Who, Faye?" James asked. I heard the snow crunch under his feet as he approached a bit warily. I still didn't move. In my mind, all I could see was a blank wall. There was nothing there, and no one. No one was listening. It was just me and my fears.

"And I've never seen what's under the mask…" I cried. I paused, the tears streaming down my face as I looked off blankly.

"Did he hurt you, Faye?" James asked, kneeling at my side, "What did he do, Faye?"

"…He said fear could turn to love…"

"Faye, did he hurt you?" James suddenly gripped me by the shoulders, looking into my eyes intensely. The motion brought me back to the moment. My mouth froze in response. What would I say? Yes? Yes, Erik hurt me? Then what? Why couldn't I do this? I was about to speak when a shadow fell over us. Lifting my eyes slowly, a dread began to fill me before horror hit full-blast. Erik stood over us, a deep and agitated frown plastered across his face.

"James… run," I whispered, tugging gently at his shoulder. James didn't seem to hear me. I could barely even hear myself. Erik slowly drew his rapier. I knew why he'd come here. He'd driven me to the edge last night for a reason. He needed an excuse to go through with his next plan, and he needed a time to do it in. I refused to allow myself to become frozen in fear like this. James was innocent of anything. Erik was simply mad with jealousy. James turned his head in time to see Erik's blade come surging forth for his neck, but even the phantom was not quick enough. My blade was unsheathed, blocking his fatal blow inches from James's neck. "Run!" I commanded, looking at James desperately. He scuttled out from underneath the two crossed blades, looking bewildered and terrified.

Erik growled, his brows creasing in a fit of rage. He wheeled out of the lock, and sprung after James. I flung myself across the snow, latching onto his ankles and bringing him down into the snow just as James mounted his horse. Erik squirmed under my grasp, trying to pursue his quarry still. I gripped his feet and kept him there. "Faye!" James called, nodding in a downward motion as if to tell me to jump on.

"No, go, GO!" I screamed. James looked at me desperately before riding off. I quickly rolled backward, standing with my blade in hand as Erik rose. He quivered in anger as he turned to face me. His eyes were ablaze with a thousand kinds of hate, and I wondered why I put myself in these situations. I set my jaw, meeting his glare with a false confidence.

"Have you forgotten who you are dealing with?" Erik sneered, tightening his grip on the hilt of his rapier. I ignored the question, unwilling to address the power issue at present.

"You were going to kill him," I said evenly, "He never did anything. He was completely innocent. And you were going to _kill him!_"

"Yes, and I would have succeeded if it were not for a meddling little harlot from the countryside!" He hissed. The murderous gleam in his eyes was unsettling. I shifted, but still kept up my general stance. "You worthless little whore!"

"You were going to kill him, because you were insane with jealousy!" I spat, pointing at him with my sword, "Because he is everything you are not, and that is the better choice on my part!"

"I am not jealous of an unintelligent insignificant little fop from England!" Erik growled, slowly closing the distance between us. I stood my ground.

"Then why waste your time in killing him if he is so insignificant?" I challenged, "Why use me to give you reason to kill him?"

"You would have betrayed me!" Erik yelled, trying to keep his anger in check but failing. "You would have told all for the price of your precious freedom!"

"My freedom is worth almost everything—except the life of another!" I extended my sword pointedly, almost shuddering to think of fighting him again.

"The life of another!" He repeated incredulously, "Do you know what would have become of me if you had just succeeded in divulging everything you know? Do you know, Faye, what would have happened?" I bit my lip, watching him. He continued in a bitter tone that seemed to be hiding some remote form of fear, "Your little English friend would have had the entire police department searching through my sanctuary, and then what? They would find me, Faye, and they would _kill me_." His angry glare had faded away. He now stared at me unbelievingly, as if I somehow could right the situation. "That is still sacrificing the life of another!"

"You are not another, Erik," I said evenly. He stopped, staring at me. I shook my head, looking at him. "Don't you understand? I don't care what happens to you." There was silence. A cloud had fallen across the morning sun. All was dark and quiet.

"You don't mean that," he finally said. There was a numb tone to his voice, as if he were denying it. "Faye…" I shook my head again.

"You're a monster, Erik. I'll never know you, and I don't want to," I whispered. A desperate, hurt expression was slowly moving across his countenance.

"You don't mean that…" he said softly. I pursed my lips and bowed my head.

"I once pitied you," I explained, "I once thought that maybe, I could care about you and you would care about me too." I lifted my eyes to look at him again. The emotion in his form was drained away. "But then I realized…you're a monster. You could never care." I shrugged, slowly sheathing my sword. Erik was looking down now. He had dropped his rapier and was staring at it in the snow.

"How could your life be interesting without me," he whispered heart-brokenly, "How could it be interesting…"

"I just want to know peace again," I interrupted. He lifted his eyes. Tears were flowing from them. How much pain had I caused this man? I had to convince myself that I was doing the right thing. I knew now where to hit him in order to have an effect. Time had taught me how to destroy. "I don't need someone telling me what to do every second of the day. I don't need to be abused every time I have an opinion. I don't need to be punished every time I feel too tired to work…"

"You're out-of-control," Erik said. He wiped his eyes; "You can't function alone."

"I did fine before you came along," I answered.

"You don't know enough to survive this world. You need my guidance," Erik insisted.

"No," I said, shaking my head roughly, "I don't need your guidance, your teaching, your advice…"

"Me," he said. I paused, looking at him with a curious expression. "You need me," he explained. I opened my mouth to make some defiant retort, but my heart wouldn't let me deny it. Just like I knew his weakness, he knew mine. "So every word that has just left your mouth, is a complete lie," Erik said, crossing his arms, "One big lie."

"That is not true!" I snapped, "I could walk away from you forever, and never even look back!"

"Well go on then, I don't have all day!" He challenged, motioning in the direction of the Opera House, "Go. Walk away from me forever, and don't look back. No one's stopping you!" He picked up his rapier and resheathed it. I raised my head defiantly.

"Fine. I will." I picked myself up, and began plodding away from him. Of course I knew that I would somehow fail in this. I should have had more than enough willpower to walk away from him. It was so easy to walk away. I hadn't gotten very far by the time my feet refused to move any further. After a few seconds in that paused position, Erik's cold laughter ensued behind me. I felt anger and embarrassment rising within my soul.

"Oh, Faye, you poor little chorus girl!" He laughed. I heard him trudging through the snow after me. "Your lies are somewhat more than amusing!"

"God damn you," I whispered, closing my eyes and shaking my head. I knew when I'd been defeated, but I hated admitting it. I had tried so hard to resist and force him away, but in my heart, I'd only brought him closer. His breath came in short puffs across my cheek, his gloved fingers closing around the crook of my waist.

"Shall I return you to rehearsal?" He asked. I opened my eyes hesitantly to look at him. I could have reached out and pulled his mask off. But I didn't have the heart to do so. "They are likely to be starting soon…" I pulled away from him, shivering in the cold. I closed my eyes again. He seemed hesitant, but hooked his fingers around my waist again, draping his cloak around me for doubled warmth. He led me away from the area and around the corner, where his black stallion stood like a statue. Erik nearly tossed me up onto his horse, mounting behind and closing his arms around my waist, gloved hands gripping the leather reins. "Your near-betrayal will not go unpunished," he reminded, "And I advise you to verify nothing with the chorus girls and your English friend—or anyone else for that matter."

I bit my lip. He apparently enjoyed commanding me. He knew I hated it. "So what shall I tell them instead?" I asked.

"Nothing. Or if you must, make up something," he advised. We were silent for the remainder of the trip, until he pulled the stallion up to the stable doors. "One last thing. We will be meeting early tonight. I expect to begin almost directly after rehearsals." He let me slip from the saddle and looked down at me. "That's an order." I said nothing, but turned on my heel and stormed off towards the stables. I could feel his glare resting on me, but I ignored it and made my way through the stables in a flourish. Entering the corridor, I met with pandemonium. James rushed to me.

"Faye, are you all right?" He asked, grabbing my elbow.

"I'm fine," I said numbly, shaking his grip off and traipsing through the crowd of gossiping chorus girls. There was a mixture of excitement and pure horror on the air. Everyone was asking me questions, but I made my way through and up the stairs to my room. At the top of the stairs, Madame Giry stood, a stern look on her face.

"You tried to betray him," she said in a low voice. I glared at her and shoved past, slamming my door. She rapped on it. "Rehearsals in ten minutes!" I growled to myself and then paused at the sight of my room. There was at least one letter on almost every surface! The desk, the dresser, the window ledge, the bed, the floor, the nightstand… I snatched up one from my dresser and tore into it to meet with Erik's scrawling handwriting.

'You are mine.'

I nearly choked at the sight of the words. Upon tearing through the other seventeen envelopes, I read the same exact sentence on each one. "You are mine." "You are mine." "You are mine." I nearly screamed at the pile of letters that accumulated at my feet, and wept into my hands. The last note fluttered from my fingers and lay there, opened and glaring at me from the floor. Crying to myself miserably, I couldn't help but stare at the words, scrawled legibly and angrily before me.

'You are mine.'

**A/N:** _Sorry it's a wee bit short. Hope you like this one. I'd also like to take this time to thank my faithful reviewers. I lurve you all. GF._


	11. The Lash For Betrayal

**Chapter Eleven: The Lash For Betrayal**

Once I'd recovered from the near-desperation that had upset me so, I dressed for rehearsal and proceeded to the theater. Every person I passed in the hall gave me a suspicious look, but I gulped and ignored it. When I entered the theater, the rest of the cast was loosely assembled onstage, talking amongst one another with whispering voices. The speech ceased completely when I approached the stage. Most of them were looking at me uncomfortably, still as statues.

Sighing to myself, I took my position and kept my eyes lowered. Monsieur Reyer cleared his throat, tapping his music stand with his baton. His silver moustache was upturned in a prudent, tight expression, eyes creased in an indifferent glare that seemed to rest on me. I lifted my eyes for a moment, finding that everyone was looking at me. Carlotta, just a short distance away, was looking at me with a terrified face. She said nothing, but shifted a few paces further away.

"Let us commence rehearsals," Monsieur Reyer stated, "We will do a full run-through, and anything that needs further work will be addressed afterwards. Are there any questions?" Monsieur Reyer raised a brow, his mouth frozen in a wordless response. There was nothing but an uncomfortable silence. I bit my lip. I don't know what James had told everyone, but it certainly wasn't doing me any good. "Very well. From the beginning of Act I…"

Anyone that was supposed to be offstage seemed to magically appear on the wings of the stage. Apparently no one wanted to be near me. It suddenly occurred to me that maybe this was not to blame on James at all. Perhaps Madame Giry had said something. After all, she seemed to maintain relations with Erik. What better way to keep the rumors from spreading than to counteract them with her own rumor? If people were afraid of me, they wouldn't go asking questions. But what could she have possibly said? James was giving me an odd look from across the stage. It didn't seem to be of fear, but more of scrutiny. I would have to get to the bottom of this.

Rehearsals were far too short in length. Carlotta was not her usual snobby self and cooperated relatively well for once. Unsatisfied with the performance of the dancers, Monsieur Reyer and Madame Giry kept them afterward to work through their routines once more. The rest of the cast left immediately for their rooms—all except for James.

As I entered the hall outside the theater rather dejectedly, James grasped my wrist and pulled me to the chapel. "Faye, are you all right?" He asked in a hushed voice. He was looking at me in concern now, but I couldn't understand what was going on. Somehow, I'd been thrown outside the ring of discussion. I looked at him for a long time before saying anything. My heart was racing with the need to tell him the truth, but deep down inside, I knew I could never tell him. I closed my eyes and took a breath, turning my face away with my shoulders raised.

"I'm fine," I answered, "Just fine." I breathed a sigh. "Will you excuse me?" I turned and pushed past him, unable to properly cope with the situation. A ghostly chill was setting onto the air. The candles were burning low now. It wouldn't be long until the dancers were done, and then, he would be waiting for me in the darkness of the theater. He was my jailer, and this place was my prison. I couldn't decide whether it was a good thing or a bad thing.

When I reached my room, I closed the door and leaned against it with a sigh. I had no one to talk to, except for Erik. He was not a friend, either. He was my mortal enemy. There was no sense to this madness. I dwelt within a cave with only the freedom to sing and to dance. As I thought over this fate, I came to realize that this was the whole purpose of it all. If I could only sing and dance, and act, these were my only forms of expression. In place of a social life, I was to devote myself to the sole aspiration of performance.

I could hear the dancers returning to their rooms. It was time for me to go. My feet seemed to be attached to the floor, my fingers closed around the air. I took a deep breath and forced myself to unlock, opening the door and moving down the stairs. I had to convince myself that I was still a hawk—not a measly little songbird in the Phantom's cage.

The corridors seemed darker than usual, but I wouldn't let it phase me. I kept taking deep breaths. I was still alive, I reminded myself. That was the one thing I had going for me. I also knew I was very capable of wielding almost any weapon. That was another positive thing. However, I knew that Erik had tapped into every weakness he could find—romance, the arts, my fears…

The doors into the theater seemed to loom thousands of feet over me, every carved angel looking down through hollow eyes. I gulped and opened the door to a dark theater with only one candle lit on the stage. I hated not being able to see where he was. He could lunge and attack me from any place, for all I knew. After allowing my eyes the time to adjust, I made my way down the most visible aisle, arriving at the stage with no sign of my tutor.

Shrugging, and feeling a bit relieved, I had a seat on the edge of the stage to await instructions. It was well over a few minutes before he spoke. His voice seemed to resonate from the ceiling, but I could not see that far up, so I simply listened. "It is good to see that you are punctual, mademoiselle. I believe we will start the evening off with your aria from Act II, since you are already warmed up." His voice swirled around the walls of the Opera House, but I didn't let it affect me. He was trying to encapsulate my mind within his vocal trap, and tonight, I wouldn't let it work. Tonight, it was strictly business. "Proceed, mademoiselle."

I felt like the air was dead. I felt no life within me as I prepared to sing as he instructed. I knew if I could not bring emotion into my voice, he would be unsatisfied, and would urge me to perform it again and again until he approved. Straightening my posture, my shoulders fell back, my chest moving forward. I dropped my jaw and took a breath. The notes came out easily enough, but softly. This did not prevent the words from being heard, but expressed bashfulness at approaching the piece. Moving my eyes upward, I caught a glimpse of his shadow moving around the circular walkway nearest the chandelier. He seemed to be pacing, but I didn't look for long. My eyes drifted to look out across the empty rows.

Vaguely, I understood what I was singing, but the sheer volume of the notes was captivating. As the aria built, I gave into the feeling of loss, and let the notes tremble throughout my being. I was singing of death and betrayal, yet ultimately, my body was at a state of complete relaxation. Singing of such horrors and tragedies seemed only to coax me into tranquil state of mind. I knew I was nearing the height of the song, but the notes continued to sail effortlessly, the dynamics building at a moderate pace until the entire hall was filled with gorgeous euphony.

There was a rest for another bar and a half, and the silence seemed to linger breathlessly. Erik's presence felt closer, but my eyes had closed by now. I didn't care where he was. The rest of the song came out with a mystical lull, until the last notes died away, wafting gently through the theater. Then, all was silent. It wasn't an empty silence, really, but it wasn't a full silence either. I opened my eyes and looked down. I could see his shadow looming over from behind me. It was very threatening.

"I apologize for my rash words earlier. I did not take into consideration what was going through your head. I suppose I just assumed you were being foolish," he spoke evenly from behind me. It's not what I expected to hear, nor was it what I wanted to hear. The more he accepted who I was, the more inclined I would feel to get closer to him. I didn't respond. I only stood there. He reached out and placed a hand on my shoulder, looking to hear from me on the subject no doubt. "Now that I look back upon the situation, I realize that I was wrong. You were being wisely rash, and while I felt you were being a desperate fool, you were merely a desperate, helpless woman."

"Yes," I replied.

"Yes?" He repeated, as if confused. I paused for a moment, before shrugging off his hand and moving away. I turned a bit to look back at him.

"Yes, you were wrong." I turned on my heel and walked a short distance along the stage. I didn't want to be close to him right now. "What will you have me do next, Monsieur?" I asked politely. He was quiet for a moment.

"Faye…"

"Perhaps the aria from the final scene," I suggested immediately, looking around the theater as if it were interesting, "I recognize that it requires a bit more work than I have allowed." Erik was again silent. I could tell that our moods were colliding again; something that seemed to happen quite a bit.

"No," he replied briefly. I heard him step away into the shadows now, and he seemed to be contemplating. He paced, returning to me. "I want to work on your presence," he stated.

"What about my presence?" I was irritated with him. I'm not sure why, though. He must have sensed this in my voice, for he stood in front of me and gestured emphatically, pointing at me in a manner of accusation.

"You, Mademoiselle Faye Lavonne, are being a selfish little cow. You stand in one place on the stage, sing, and expect people to be entertained by that. You do not address your audience, nor even try to communicate with them on a more serious level. Do you even think of what kind of influential people may be sitting out there? Forget influence—do you even care about those who have traveled from all over France to see you? Or have you too big of a head to care about such things?" His outburst was pointed and angry, his eyes flashing with sparks of annoyance. He took a breath, almost shuddering to look down at me. I crossed my arms in a casual manner, and eyed him.

"It's not very inspiring to look out over empty rows of seats," I sassed. I knew I was only fueling the rage that was growing within him, but for some reason, I liked it right now. He whipped his arm up, catching me in a firm headlock. Surprised, a gasp escaped me before I struggled and almost fell over.

"If you continue to have this attitude in my theater, I will see that you are hung from the chandelier," he warned through gritted teeth. In a burst of strength, I threw him from me, gasping for air.

"This attitude never seemed to fail Carlotta!" I refuted. He rose carefully, brushing himself off.

"And do you aspire to be Carlotta, or do you aspire to be Faye Lavonne?" He demanded.

"Does it even matter to you anymore?" I shot, stomping the stage angrily. I drew my lips tight across my teeth in aggravation, before biting down on my bottom lip. I could feel my self-control failing. He shook his head, speechless for a moment.

"Sing it again, Faye. And this time, sing to me." He shifted off the stage and took his seat in the audience, looking at me expectantly. Disgruntled, I grumbled to myself a bit before focusing in on him and trying to think of how I would sing it to him. If I were to do as he asked, it would be far too much like opening up to him. Still, he seemed to have calmed down, and was kindly being patient with me. I had to at least try.

I certainly felt as though I was wearing thin by this point. He pushed and pulled and dragged me until I was worn out like a doormat. I was tired all of the time and had minimal patience with his orders. My desire to please was fading by the day, and my heart was becoming cold. He was no longer inspiring to me. He was just a burden—a symbol of pain and torment. What reason would I have to obey such a presence? I looked at him now, and did not feel the least bit driven. I felt homesick…homesick and lovesick. A knot formed in my throat.

"Come closer, Erik," I said. He hesitated, as though he had made up his mind to keep his distance. He was still contemplating punishment for my earlier actions, I could tell. He seemed almost timid at first, but he rose and moved to the orchestra pit, keeping his eyes on me warily. I centered myself and looked down at him, thinking. I'd come such a long way from day one, and somehow, tonight felt as though it should be a milestone of sorts.

I looked straight at him and concentrated. I thought back to everything he'd said and done. There was so much to hate him for, and yet, so much to love him for. But right now, I just couldn't channel those thoughts into my voice. I stared at him blankly and shook my head. His eyes remained on me, but they were not burning. They were not anything. There were cold and lifeless. That's why I couldn't sing. He was still sitting there attentively, waiting. He was waiting for something that simply would not come.

"I can't sing to you," I stated, letting my shoulders sag.

"And why is that, Faye?" He asked smoothly. He seemed as if he was expecting such a thing to happen. I raised my head and eyed him. His expression had not changed. I guess the correct way to deal with this situation, while he was calm, was to be honest.

"You seem so indifferent and cold… like you might not want to be here," I answered. A little smile crept into his features.

"Yes, Faye. You see, that is how an audience views a new singer on the stage. That is how almost every single person in the audience on your first performance will be looking at you," He explained serenely. I frowned and sighed, seating myself on the edge of the stage.

"Erik… I… I don't feel like I can do this," I admitted sheepishly, looking over at him. I was sure he would get angry at some point. But I felt no rage within him tonight, which was strange for his general demeanor. He rose and approached. I dropped my gaze and watched his feet draw near. He put a gloved finger under my chin and raised it. A small smile was on his face. Was he drunk?

"Practice makes perfect, my little songbird," he said tenderly. I was very tempted to ask what was wrong with him… perhaps what he was planning… he had to have been planning something, what-with his acting like this and so forth. But I saw absolutely nothing beyond the tranquil orbs of his eyes. I was disturbed by this new attitude. He was far too relaxed, and whatever his intentions were tonight, he was in no hurry. "Would you like to try again?" He asked. I blinked. He never _asked_ if I wanted to sing. He just told me.

Baffled, the response came out in a bewildered fashion. "I… well… sure, all right." He smiled and returned to his seat while I resumed my stance and looked at him. I wasn't sure that I felt better about the situation at this point, but at least I understood that it was necessary that I impress him. That didn't make it any easier to sing _to_ him, but understanding his mentality restored some of my confidence. He sat back and seemed to scrutinize me a bit more.

"Breathe," he whispered urgently. I breathed and closed my eyes, concentrating again. This time, I'd get it. I felt a bit more determined. Opening my eyes again, I looked straight at him and started singing. Albeit, it was a bit awkward at first, but as the song progressed, I grew more comfortable and moved a bit more within reason. When I finished, he smiled a bit. "Better," he said.

I bowed my head a bit, and wondered absently when I was to receive punishment for my earlier actions. He stood and walked off into the shadows, reappearing moments later on the stage. His arms were folded behind his back, his brow creased in thought.

"I have learned, Miss Lavonne, that the best way to torment you is not by use of pain," he began. I clenched my fists and took a breath. "Nor is it by use of words or commands, or any kind of physical force…"

"What are you saying, Erik?" I asked. I just wanted him to get to the point. I was tired of games. He stopped beside me. I could feel him smirking, but didn't look at him. I couldn't bring myself to do that. I knew that whatever he had in mind must have been ingenious and completely cruel to my nature.

"Stripping you of power… and stealing your control, is the best way to destroy you inside, Faye," he whispered. I made a move to run, and he grabbed my wrist calmly but firmly. I could already feel myself fleeing into a panic. My heart started beating faster, and my breathing became quick. My eyes darted around, desperately seeking an escape. This could only end badly. "Ideal punishment for betrayal," he finished.

"I didn't betray you, Erik," I whispered, closing my eyes. He reeled me in close to his body and stroked my torso. "I realized that I couldn't…"

"You almost did," he pointed out.

"This isn't necessary…" I could feel his lips caressing my jaw slowly. I groaned softly as he moved down along my neck. "Erik… please…" I leaned into him and realized he had it all figured out by now. By being gentle and loving with me, he could undo every quality that protected me from falling. He could bring me down very quickly, and he would win.

I was sinking. He was sliding me down to the stage, making his intentions quite obvious. But the only light was the one flickering candle that cast an eerie glow across us. How had he come to know me so well? "My little tiger is not so ferocious after all," he whispered, breathing on my lips, but not kissing. My mouth opened to speak, but I couldn't. I shuddered. I could feel myself breaking out into a sweat and my fingers tried to lock with his weakly. My eyes were closed. I couldn't bring myself to open them. I felt him take a deep breath, and his lips closed around mine, pressing a deep, passionate kiss. I couldn't take this. I was falling apart, and he was enjoying it far too much.

I was so weak now. Struggling, I could do nothing. He released my lips and I gasped, suddenly shoving at him uselessly. "Erik… please," I panted softly, opening my eyes. Looking into his, I could see a haze settling over the burning coals of desire, which he seemed to blink away. "You can't do this to me," I whispered, sinking back down underneath him.

"I lead," he whispered into my ear, fingers moving along my side cautiously, "You follow."

Suddenly, the door in the back of the theater flew wide open, light spilling in. Erik recovered quickly and whipped out of sight. Gasping, I closed my eyes and tried to pull myself together. But James was running down the aisle. "Faye?" He called, leaping onto the stage and picking me up. He cradled me in his arms as though I had taken a terrible fall. I could feel myself breaking down again. I nestled into James's embrace, let loose, and cried.

I don't think he asked me any questions. At some point, he lifted me up and carried me off to sleep, but I wouldn't let him leave me. I became feverish late in the night, tossing and turning in his arms until he quietly assured me that there was no one there but him. This life was a nightmare, and my perceptions had been seriously tampered with. How could Erik have done such a thing? It was cruel. Apparently, he did have a heart of ice.

But I had too big of a heart to accept such a thing. I believed in him far too much, and despite the fact that James had rescued me from Erik's torture, I knew he couldn't stop it unless he took me far away from it all. And I would never get far away, because I loved Erik. I had no way of coming to grips with the situation. If I told Erik what I was feeling, he would laugh at me. He would call me foolish. He might even get angry. I could never be sure, and that's what I hated about him. He was so unpredictable, which made things much more difficult than they had to be.

At least Erik could be certain of the fact that I would never try to betray him again. James would ask things of me when I was functional, but I would either lie, or not answer.

My life had to be nothing but music, dance, and theater. That is all Erik wanted me to care about.

**A/N:** _OMG LOOK! I wrote! Sorry for the sucktastic chapter, but I had to pick it up somewhere. :-)_


	12. Morale's Advocate

**Chapter Twelve: Morale's Advocate**

**A/N:** _: clears throat. : Don't worry. Nothing has been changed in this chapter. However, I need to address a few persons... no, sorry, one person. I already clarified with one other reader, and she was very pleasant. _

_Dear **Shennen**, (and any other inquirer)_

_(From here-on-in, this is my disclaimer). _

_ This is not a Mary-Sue. It is an exploration of characterization, and I would very much appreciate it if you would not make assumptions as to what exactly I am trying to accomplish here. I don't care if you've been singing for ten years, one year, or your entire life. I've been singing opera for this year only (but have been singing other styles for a good eight years before), and have already done several arias--with ease. Also, I would like to point out that Christine was only 16 in the novel, when she sang an aria. Thus saying, I'm not sure if it's possible in real life, although my sources say that Emmy sang for the METS at age 7, but seeing as how this is classified as FICTION, it doesn't really matter to me whether or not it's possible. Also, seeing as how my story is based on the Webber musical, it's perfectly okay for her to be a good singer and a ballet dancer. In case you want to know, I did debate this prospect for a while when I started writing it. Then I realized there was really nothing real about my story. Now, I'm sure I could go the realistic route and change everything to such specifications, but I don't have to. See, it's called "fiction." And the point of my "fiction" is to entertain people, not to bore them with facts as not everyone reading this is musically inclined. _

_Now, think what you want to think, but if you are going to criticize my work with postulates and actualities, this isn't the place for you to be posting your reviews--especially if you are to accuse me of writing a Mary-Sue, because the only thing that constitutes a true Mary-Sue character, is an overdone, cliche, unrealistic, and downright ridiculous character with seemingly no goals and/or reasons to be in the story, except to get into the pants of the main character. My character has been carefully thought-out and serves her purpose well. She has been placed in an atmosphere where the world of the Opera is governed by an ambitious, disfigured musical genius. She is unreasonable and controlling, which severely clashes with the characterization of Erik. If you would like me to explain how this is an "exploration of characterization", here you are:_

_ Faye is purposely thought out to be a stronger woman than Christine Daae. This of course, creates a problem for Erik. He has always been portrayed as having complete control over the situation. Faye, however, breaks his ability to control. If this story were post-Christine, I'm sure Erik would just be done with it and hang Faye. However, it is written pre-Christine. Still, Christine is Erik's music. The Christine character, throughout literature and so forth, has been described as having a voice like no other human--something that the Phantom of the Opera mastered and controlled, for God-knows-what-reason. I took this ethereal voice quality, replaced innocence and ignorance with knowledge and rebellion, and replaced weakness with strength. The traits alone get different reactions from Erik. However, put them all together, and he is presented with a dilemma. Faye's voice is his inspiration, and despite the fact that she constantly denies it, Erik is hers. It is still very much a Christine-Erik connection, albeit, with more drama. So why is there romance? Shouldn't they hate each other?_

_ For one, I am admittedly, a total sucker for romance. So are half of the people reading this. Now, I could write a completely boring story about how there are no fireworks and they hate each other and eventually kill each other off with their hatred, but that would make for a very short and boring story. Sometimes, you just have to make compromises and fiddle with the driving forces. But my main reasoning behind this is that Erik and Faye are intrigued by one another, to the point where it is a love-hate relationship. Complex plots are far more interesting for me to write than reverting to the simple ways of "she came, she saw, she conquered or failed." Y'know, if you like writing/reading that stuff, go right ahead, I won't stop you. I don't intend to please every person, but if you don't like something, you don't waste your time reading it, unless it's a class assignment. You just leave well enough alone. Maybe you're trying to make it better, but if you're trying to do that, you'd have to be a heck of a lot nicer about it. Not to sound over-possessive or anything, but it's my story, and I can do what I want with it. If I want to call the grass orange, I can do that. You can make suggestions, but you can't tell me how it's going to be. Do you want me to tell you how your stories are going to be? Didn't think so._

_ If you'd like to discuss this via email, I would be more than happy to. However, since you've not provided one on your user page, there is no other way for me to contact you. I don't like things to go unclarified either, so hopefully now you can better understand my reasoning, and the way I see it. I apologize if I've been rude in the above statements, but I just don't take well to being treated as if I don't know anything about music, because music is my life._

_GF  
_

I woke at dawn to a cold heart and an empty feeling. James still had his arms loosely looped around my shoulders, but was sound asleep. The room around us was like an icy cavern, my breath meeting the air in short, misty puffs. I rose a bit shakily and slipped out of James' arms, walking over to the window. Looking out through the frosty panes, I saw a few dim lights left on in Paris, and a gray sky. More snow was on the way.

I crossed my arms and shivered, trying to recall the night's events. Everything seemed to be hazy at this hour, but I could remember Erik's cruelty, albeit vaguely. Frowning, I locked my gaze on a nearby rooftop. Smoke was making its way out of the chimney in lazy swirls, vanishing into the heavy winter air. Why had Erik acted like that? It seemed completely out of his nature, yet, it was a very clever way to approach the situation. He had discovered what my ultimate weakness was, and used it against me. He would use it again, no doubt. Was there any way for me to build up resistance to the power of his seduction? He understood power and control far too easily, having manipulated such things for years.

I really had it in for myself this time. The entire problem was nearly inescapable. The show was opening in three nights, so I couldn't leave. He had access to every place in the Opera House. James could only do so much. Then there was the fact that I couldn't bring myself to leave Erik in the first place. Somehow, I had to convince myself that what I was feeling was not true. I knew that I needed to walk away, but I was so involved at this point, that the option was impossible.

I only knew a few of Erik's vulnerabilities, and not well at that. There were a few things that upset and angered him, but nothing that completely shut him off. There had to be something I was missing. But who would be able to tell me anything aside from Erik himself?

I furrowed my brow as the answer slammed me in the brain. It was like a painful epiphany, and then I realized that the option was nearly useless. Madame Giry knew something, but from what I knew about Madame Giry, it was apparent that she would tell nothing. There was no telling if she knew everything, either. It was quite possible that she was only familiar with bits and pieces of the Opera Ghost. But if she had any knowledge of Erik's history, there was a possibility of putting myself at advantage.

Biting my lip, I sighed. There was no way I could get Madame Giry to talk. I was on my own. I always thought it would be nice to be on my own, but right now, it wasn't. James stirred behind me and stretched. I heard him get up and cross the floor toward me. I didn't turn. I simply stared out the frosty window, watching the smoke curl in the frigid air. James stood beside me for a few minutes before speaking.

"Faye," he began, a hint of caution in his voice. He was unsure of how to approach the subject. "I can't say I know what exactly is going on. Somehow, I don't think you're going to talk about it either. You've tried so many times…" I remained silent, listening to him, but acting like I didn't hear. "So there's not much I can do for you. I'm here, but what good is that?" He paused. I could feel him looking at me, but I still didn't look. He took a deep breath and let it out. "But you must understand how I feel about you."

"I don't want to know," I cut in dryly. The bitterness in my voice surprised me and for a moment, I considered adding to my statement to soften it. But it didn't seem to phase James.

"Faye, you've got to listen to me." His voice was more urgent now. I pursed my lips and continued to stare out the window. He was growing agitated. Gripping me by the shoulders, he spun me toward him. "Will you look at me for God's sake?" I lifted my eyes quickly, looking at his face. He still looked like an angel, and I still felt a bit of contempt for him. I could have walked away, because I really didn't care what he had to say, but for once in my life, I shot down my stubborn-ness, bit the bullet, and listened attentively.

He seemed to be rethinking his words now, or possibly organizing his thoughts. I couldn't really tell. I hadn't learned to interpret the expressions of his eyes yet. He took another breath. "Faye…" He smiled a little, lifting a hand to my face. He didn't touch me though. It was as if a shield were around me. "You are breath-taking. I don't know if you knew that, but you are. You're ethereal; beyond anything any man ever deserves. You're strong. That's what I like best about you, Faye. You're determined as hell, and ambitious. You know how to win, and you don't like to lose. Maybe you're a little too stubborn at times, but I realize that's part of your strength." I felt on the verge of gagging, but choked back my sharp retorts. He continued to look at me steadily. "You're talented in so many ways. You're brave. You know how to fight—well. You're beautiful, but deadly." He stopped, shifting his stance, but never taking his eyes from mine. "So you've got to understand, Faye, how hard it is for me to see you so broken, when you were stronger than I could ever hope to be.

"Like I said, I may not understand what ails you… but I have some words for you, nonetheless. Whatever it is that's bothering you… you have to understand that you are far beyond it. You are greater than any force on earth, and that is something you must use to your advantage…" I was shaking my head at him now. I could feel tears in my eyes again, and I really didn't know if I could stand crying again. He cocked his head. "What do you mean…?"

"You're wrong, James," I said softly, "I am not greater than any force on earth." He fell silent, and I could have sworn he looked disappointed. I dropped my gaze. "But thanks for thinking so." I stepped away from him, moving back into the confines of the room, away from the window. He stopped me, though. Taking my arm, he turned me back around carefully, looking at me with a burning strength in his eyes.

"You don't have to be greater than any force on earth to defeat it, Faye. You're a warrior. Don't give up so soon. I can't stand to see the fear in your eyes anymore…" James looked mildly frustrated.

"Then don't look in my eyes anymore." I brushed his hand off my arm. "Please leave, James." He was quiet. "Please." I heard him moving toward the door. He opened it, but paused again.

"I may not deserve you, Faye. I may not deserve to even be in your presence," he said softly, "But I believed in you, and I believed in your will…and I won't stop believing, Faye, because I know that fire's still inside of you." With that, he was gone. I heaved a heavy sigh and rubbed my forehead with cold fingertips.

"If only things were simpler, James…" I whispered to myself. Admittedly, he had made several decent points. I hadn't been myself lately, after all. I'd been more focused and much less provoking. Had I been forgetting who I was? When I had first met Erik, I'd been more confident than a tiger going after a squirrel. How had things slipped from then? I knew all the answers to that one… I'd become attached to him. I'd allowed myself to feel for him—to pity his existence. And finally, I'd brought myself to love him, and for that, I should have hated myself for all of eternity. I just couldn't, though. The feeling excited me beyond words and terrified me to no end. Was there any way of telling Erik? The thought of telling him scared me.

James' words kept repeating in my head, however, and I had to admit that despite my new feelings for Erik, I had completely forgotten myself. There were ways to love and ways to fight. Perhaps the two shouldn't be mixed, but tonight, I'd find out for certain. I was sick and tired of going soft in the presence of the Opera Ghost, and I'd force myself to end such things. It's true, I wasn't greater than love, but I knew how to fight the good fight, and fight it I would.

Having come to grips with the situation, I felt much better. Now that I had figured that issue out, it was time to put my sights on the upcoming production of "Zampa." The next few rehearsals would be long and grueling, and they would likely be in costume. It was possible that I would be put into a completely foul mood, but somehow, that fact just didn't bother me.

Humming to myself, I changed and made my way to the theater for rehearsals. The designers were milling about on stage, taking various persons to the dressing rooms to put them in costumes. Monsieur Reyer seemed to be in a frenzy of sorts, flipping through the score rather briefly and directing various musicians to play sections. Shaking my head, I walked on stage, only to find that I was nearly seized by the dressing room manager and dragged back offstage to the wardrobe.

The dressing room manager appeared to be middle-aged with squinted eyes peering through large, round spectacles. Her brown and gray hair curled this way and that, creating a rather fantastic but horrifying glob of fuzz upon her head. She was wearing a black work dress, and an apron with all sorts of odds and ends hanging out of it. What I seemed to notice first however, was the fact that her claw-like nails were digging into my arm.

"Quickly now!" She urged. She had a high-pitched voice that I knew I was going to get annoyed with. "I am Miss Eloise, and I will be your personal assistant for your costume changes, comprenez, mademoiselle?" I blinked, looking at her. Personal Assistant? She didn't seem to be waiting for a response, however, despite the fact that she had just posed a question. She released me at the third dressing room down and took to bustling about, organizing things. That left me to look around a bit.

It was one of the smaller dressing rooms, but it was nice to have one to myself. The dancers all shared one big one, after all. I was relieved that it was this one, anyway, as Erik had easy access to Carlotta's dressing room through the mirror. And thankfully, this room wasn't a blinding shade of pink, like Carlotta's. It was a nice, cool shade of mint green with antique gold accents. An arrangement of dried flowers sat on the vanity table. There was a chaise lounge situated near the back of the room, and a white robe was draped over the vanity table chair. The vanity table itself was covered in various forms of make-up and brushes, none of which I had a good deal of familiarity with. I was sure that Miss Eloise had some idea of what to do with it all…

My costumes turned out to be fairly decent. I had four changes in the production, and each seemed to fall on an ideal time. It was always good to not have to rush through a change. The costumes themselves were exquisite—more exquisite than I would have imagined. Each had fabulous, but subtle detailing applied to them. Everything glittered with a mystical flare, and I suddenly was very proud of my role. It didn't matter that I didn't have the name to secure it, and that Erik had to likely fiddle with the managers to get it for me. I'd make the best of it, and I'd have a name by the end of the production.

"Come, come," Miss Eloise suddenly beckoned with a long fingernail, holding a silk chemise in her hand. "This is first, and then, the corset." The silk chemise felt light as air, but I knew that once I was on stage with several layers on, it wouldn't matter how light it was. The stage was an intense place to be. Miss Eloise apparently decided that I didn't need to breathe in order to sing, and laced me up so tightly that I was on the verge of choking. She said I'd get used to it, but for some reason, I didn't believe her.

I started the show out with a heavy, embroidered gown that led me to believe that no matter how elaborate and beautiful a costume was, it could easily kill me. I found it very difficult to sing, with my diaphragm so restrained. Luckily, my dresses became lighter until the farewell sequence, where I swirled around the stage in a silk gown that moved by water. James seemed almost enraptured by me when we danced, and I even allowed a little smile afterwards.

When we came to the second run, I nearly fainted in my first scene because of the gown, causing a few people to worry about whether or not the costume would do for the show. I assured them that I simply wasn't used to it, and it would be fine on opening night.

On the third run of the show, everyone was exhausted—even Carlotta. Monsieur Reyer seemed to be satisfied by this, especially after the entire cast trudged off to bed—entire meaning everyone except for me. Upon arriving in my room, I saw a note fluttering in an unseen breeze on my desk. Snatching it up, completely exasperated, I tore into it and read.

'Miss Lavonne,

I think you may understand what exactly I mean when I say "I am not finished with you."

Ten o'clock sharp.

Erik'

My heart started racing immediately with the realization of what this meant. But I had to go. Despite the fact that I felt much too tired to fight, I found myself snatching my rapier and dagger before marching down to the theater rather reluctantly. It was a very good thing that I was feeling lucky tonight…

I waltzed into the theater at precisely ten o'clock, just as the Opera Ghost had commanded. He was already there, pacing the stage restlessly, his hands folded behind his back. He looked up as I entered, and I felt his face light up. Then his gaze drifted to my rapier and dagger, and the light vanished.

"I had thought, Miss Lavonne, that you were beyond these immature methods of defense," he sneered softly. I stopped short of the stage and cocked my head, looking at him.

"Well… you were wrong…" It was all I could do to keep from grinning before adding, "Again." The retort seemed to restore all of the confidence I needed, and I pranced up the stairs onto the stage, where Erik had assumed a position that suggested he was angry and shocked. He had nothing to say to my statement, apparently, because he straightened his shoulders and vanished into the shadows. "But I'll have you know that I'm not in much of a fighting mood this evening, so if it can be avoided…" A snicker rose out of the darkness. I quirked a brow and hesitated.

"Haven't you noticed that every time you have a blade on hand, you must use it for one purpose or another?" He seemed to be highly agitated. I suppose I couldn't blame him, but his aggravation just didn't stop me from my relapse.

"No, but I have noticed that every time I have a blade on hand, you see the need to provoke me more than normal, therefore causing me to use it," I responded. It was followed by silence. "So I believe you called me here to finish what you started last night," I reasoned aloud, looking around to catch sight or sound of him, "And honestly, I'd like to see how much further you get."

"Is that supposed to scare me, my little pet?" He whispered. I whirled to find him standing right behind me, looking more menacing than ever. I had learned through time, that the best way to deal with these situations was not to panic, but to keep going as though nothing had happened. I smiled a little.

"Oh Erik," I laughed, backing up a step, "Why on earth would I waste my time in trying to scare you?" I avoided looking directly in his eyes, and he followed my movement.

"Do you think these childish games will save you?" He hissed, "You know what's coming to you…" I just smiled, and I knew it was driving him mad. I stopped backing up and let him draw near to me. He towered over my head, glaring downward.

"Yes, Erik. And I'm sure you have everything worked out perfectly by now. A flawless plan to trap me…" His lips were coming closer to mine. He was about to spring his trap, or so, he thought he was. My voice turned to bitter sarcasm. "Because I'm so damn predictable." With that, I seized him by the shoulders and threw him from me. He stumbled backwards, completely surprised. I drew my rapier and flashed him a challenging expression. "Aren't I, Erik?" I could tell that I'd crossed the line then, because with a mighty shudder, he straightened himself and drew his rapier, approaching me without due caution.

His blade was singing through the air at me already, and I parried it almost lazily, spinning under our arms and sliding our blades apart. He aimed for my side, and my blade came straight down to cross it. I wheeled around again and threw a deliberate slash toward his left shoulder. His blade swung up underneath from the right and blocked my blow efficiently. He growled and spun off of the crossed blades, putting a bit more space between us. He seemed to have calmed down a bit now, but the rage still simmered behind his mask.

"Why fight, Faye, when you know you'll just lose again?" He snarled angrily. I smiled a bit at his words, recalling what James had said to me.

"I think you underestimate my willpower, Erik," I warned.

"This is not a good step for your career," he informed, circling the area in anticipation.

"Oh, I think it's a very important step, despite what you say," I answered, following his circle almost lethargically, "I can think for myself, after all, and therefore, I can think what I like."

"You are mine!" He yelled. Silence ensued when the echo faded. I shook my head.

"Oh Erik…" I said softly, "Will you ever learn? I belong to no one." He lunged again, more determined to defeat me. I was too quick for his attacks however. I kept telling myself that I was strong. As long as I believed that, I could continue this fight. But when I stopped believing, I'd falter.

Time seemed to pass us by rather quickly, but I couldn't really tell between all of the parrying, ducking, and spinning. I was starting to get dizzy, but I didn't let him become alert to that. Finally, I was able to throw his blade far from the fray. I found him before me on his knees, glaring up at my face. I kept my blade at his throat, catching my breath.

"I could run you through right now… I could be rid of you forever…" I reasoned. He shook his head and gritted his teeth, steadying his breathing.

"You haven't the heart to do so," he whispered. I raised my brows and nodded slowly.

"You're right," I said, "I'm not like you. I have compassion…"

"I only treat the world as it has treated me," he snarled, "With contemptuous arrogance! I have never known compassion!" I continued to look at him, trying to untangle the various thoughts I was having. I suddenly did not believe that I was strong. Looking at him, I realized that we were of two different worlds. I hadn't had a horrible life. I had never been treated like the scum of the earth. I'd been treated badly, but not consistently. Was I only being a drama queen?

My hands were shaky. I lowered my blade and bit my lip, backing away a step. He stood, brushing himself off, his eyes boring holes into me. I still stood my ground, however. "Then know this…" I gulped. Now was the time, and if I didn't say it, I might not ever get the chance. "I love you, Erik," I whispered. I was met with a dead silence was somewhat more than discomforting. The anger in his eyes seemed to burn deeper and then fizzle out as he realized I was not playing around. He didn't know what to do. "Why do you think everything you do to me hurts so much?" He didn't answer. He turned away. I stared at his back, and I could feel a river of emotions flooding my soul. Tears came to my eyes. _You're not strong_…

"Stop lying to me," I heard him say. I then realized that he was sobbing uncontrollably, "Stop lying!" I dropped my sword, tears running down my face.

"Why would I lie to you, Erik?" I whispered. I couldn't get my feet to move across the stage. The space between us was both aggravating and relieving, but I found that the first was maintaining precedence. Why did things have to be like this? It should have been a happy thing, but for some reason, it wasn't. He shuddered.

"You hate me," he said softly, "You've always hated me. You always will. So will the rest of the world…"

"You don't understand, Erik. I tried my damnedest not to love you. I tried so hard to hate you. I tried so hard to make you believe I hated you," I rambled, "I didn't want to love a criminal. I almost convinced myself, Erik… I almost did…" He was quiet now. "But you're not a criminal, Erik. You were just misunderstood."

"Stop toying with me," he stated in a low voice. Enraged, I strode over to his sword and slid it in his direction. He turned his head and looked down at the blade.

"If you want to deny everything I've said, go right ahead," I growled, "But there is one force in this world that is greater than both of us, and to lie about it would be a mortal sin. Love is patient and kind, Erik, and while you seem to possess neither of these traits, I still believe you can. I was told this morning that I am beyond what any man deserves, and while I am disinclined to believe such a statement, it is quite the compliment. I love you, Erik. I never thought I'd say it. I never thought I'd mean it. But here I am, and I won't put myself at your mercy anymore. This isn't a game, but you believe what you want to."

At that, I sheathed my rapier and walked offstage. I didn't stop until I'd reached my room, and when I got there, I nearly collapsed on my bed in tears. Was it too much for him? Would he understand? Would he try to kill me? There was no telling what he would do. Now that the cat was out of the bag, anything was possible…

But I had no regrets concerning what I said. I'm sure that James hadn't meant for me to handle the situation like this, but it was the only honest way I could do it.

I tread in deep water, and wait for my rescue.


End file.
